Highway to Hell
by Dali2theLlamasquared
Summary: Sequel to Stairway to Heaven! The boys, no longer hunted by the arch angels and ditched by their dad, set off on their own. But then the angels request a special mission of our two winged heros, and Dean is still worried about Sam's soul...
1. Heaven Knows We're Miserable Now

**A/N: Well, I kinda wanted to have this out sooner. For those of you who didn't read Stairway to Heaven, you may want to read that first, though I'm trying to, kinda, recap what happened. **

**Right, I apologize for not starting this one sooner. In this past week alone I have had my car break down, twice, dropped a bookcase on my toe, caught my computer on fire, had a shower that refused to work and a pipe burst in my ceiling, which subsequently decided to drop plaster of paris on my head. So while I take to repairing my house, working, and going to school, I will try to have my updates out as quickly as possible. As long as my computer doesn't burst into flames. Again.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Unfortunately. Because if I did…well…let's just say it probably wouldn't be pretty. Story title is taken from the song by AC/DC and the chapter title is taken from The Smiths. **

**Highway to Hell**

**Chapter One: Heaven Knows We're Miserable Now**

"God, Dean, that reeks…what's in it?"

Dean glanced down at the offending take-out box in Sam's lap and shrugged.

"I'm throwing it out the window." Sam reached over to crank down the Impala's window, only to be thrown against the door as the car swerved wildly.

"Dean, what the heck!?" Sam batted at Dean's reaching hand.

"You can't throw out my burrito!"

"If it smells this bad now, what do you think it's going to smell like after you've eaten it?" Sam whined, holding the burrito out of reach and trying to crank faster.

"I'm warning you, Sam, put down the burrito and no one gets hurt…"

Sam's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he looked out the windshield. "Dean!"

"What, what is it!?" Dean turned quickly to look, slamming on his breaks and swerving to avoid…nothing. "What the heck, Sam?" He paused, noticing the open window and empty hands. "Where the hell is my burrito?"

"It's in a better place, Dean."

Dean's mouth tightened and he bit back a few not very nice words.

_Friggin' Bitch._

"I heard that, you jerk."

A strangled noise, something between a grunt and a scream, left Dean's throat, and he redirected his attention to the road, fully intent on ignoring his brother.

"Aww…Dean, you aren't gonna pout, are you?"

Dean didn't even acknowledge that Sam had spoken.

"Deeaannn…"

Not giving in.

"God, you look like such a girl when you stick your lip out like that…"

"Grrr…" Dean's eye twitched and he rounded on his brother. Only to be met with a white takeout box on the bench between them.

Sam's lips twitched as Dean's look turned from righteous anger to confusion to frustrated older brother in a matter of seconds. "Sam…"

Sam busted out laughing. "The look on your face…"

"You better watch it, buddy…"

But Sam couldn't stop laughing.

"That's it Sam, you better watch out, or you're gonna end up bald again."

Sam attempted to sober up, but one look at his brother brought it all tumbling down again. "God Dean…my stomach hurts," Sam fell against the door, clutching at his stomach as he tried to get the hysterical laughter under control.

Dean opened his mouth to tell his brother off, and then realized that it was really the first time that Sam had laughed since an angel nearly beheaded him. Which had been followed quickly by the appearance of Sam's healing powers and their dad ditching, again.

Since then, they'd been driving around rather aimlessly.

Sam had found a couple of potential hunts, but Dean hadn't seemed overtly interested, so Sam had dropped the subject.

Truth was, Dean was still trying to come to terms with the fact that his brother was the potential ruler of Hell.

And it was kind of hard to reconcile that little tidbit of information with the six-foot-four twenty-two year old that was giggling, yes, giggling, in the passenger seat beside him.

So until he was sure that Sam was okay, he was going to stay away from anything that even looked demonic. Or deadly. Or demonically deadly. So no hunting. At least not these past two weeks. They'd headed south, away from the cold and the snow, and far away from that stupid cabin. He had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before something rained on his little parade, and given the run rate of Winchester luck, they were due for an unhappy experience right about…

"Shit!" Dean cursed as the tire suddenly shredded, the loud explosion and subsequent nails on chalkboard sound letting Dean know he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Sam abruptly stopped laughing as Dean angled the car over to the side of the abandoned country road.

He was out of the car before Dean even asked, in the trunk looking for the locked tool box and jack so Dean could retrieve the donut from under the car, where they'd managed to jerry rig it, and get to work. "Thanks, Sam," he muttered, taking the proffered tools and lifting the car. Now all they needed was…

Thunder rolled ominously, and seconds later the heavens opened.

Almost instantly both boys were soaked, Dean's normally spiked hair plastered to his forehead, and Sam's heavy, dripping locks. "Couldn't I get a useful ability, like being able to control the weather!" Dean complained, voice raising with each word.

Sliding under the car, he continued his grumbling.

Sam knelt down, ready to hand whatever tool his brother need to him, when the spare tire suddenly floated out from underneath the car, causing Sam to squeak and fall backwards, his jeans immediately soaking through when his behind landed in a puddle. "Dean! Warn a guy next time! For all I know that tire was possessed!"

"Sorry," Dean grinned, popping out from underneath the car. "But, you have to admit that you deserved that."

"Watch it, I might still pitch that burrito."

"You wouldn't," Dean gasped, pretending to sound affronted. "Hold these…and don't pull a Christmas Story, wouldn't want to have to wash your mouth out with soap." Dean handed him the hub cap filled with nuts and bolts.

"Fuuudddggeee," Sam supplied, smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Ralphy!" he gasped, pulling off the remains of the shredded tire. "Shit," he muttered, sticking his thumb in his mouth and sucking.

"What?"

"Glass," he mumbled around his thumb.

"Let me see, Dean."

"Nu-uh."

"What are you, four? Let me see." Sam reached for Dean's wrist, but Dean quickly swung his entire arm up and out of reach, ignoring the blood running freely from the deep slice.

"No. It makes you sick when you do that stuff."

"It's not like I'm trying to bring you back to life, Dean," Sam sighed. "Lemme see."

"No," he muttered sullenly, still holding it out of reach, ignoring the rain that was running down the back of his collar. "You weren't coherent for two days, Sam. Then you spent the next two trying to bring your guts up because of that stupid migraine."

_I'm fine when I use my powers. You aren't._

"Yeah, well you heard Bobby. He said it's because the demon powers are interfering with the angelic ones. That's why it hurts when I use either one of them. They're fighting each other." Sam sighed, and prepared himself for the low blow. "You can't repair the Impala one-handed, Dean."

"Then we'll call a tow-truck," Dean was already reaching for his phone. "I don't have any reception, give me yours."

"No. Give me your thumb."

"I'm not interested in a thumb war, Sam. Give me the phone."

In a Winchester battle of wills, everyone lost.

"Fine," Dean grumbled. "Keep the stupid phone."

Holding his bleeding hand off to one side, Dean gestured at the blown tire with the other, causing it to pop off and tumble to the ground.

"Ahh! You are so frustrating!"

Dean turned to reply and ended up with a face full of Sam's shirt as he tackled Dean to the ground. Desperately, Dean tried to wave his injured hand out of reach, but Sam was faster, pinning Dean down with his body weight and grabbing at Dean's arm. "Get the hell off me!"

"Shut up and give me your hand, Dean!"

"No!" _I don't want to see you hurt…_

Bucking underneath his brother, Dean attempted to throw Sam off, only managing to soak himself in the rapidly growing puddle. "Hah!" Sam grasped successfully at the flailing hand. "I don't want to see you hurt either, you moron."

Dean sighed as he felt the slight tingling that meant Sam had been successful in healing the injury. "Will you get off me now?" Not waiting for Sam's reply, Dean heaved, and Sam overturned, falling once again into the cold puddle.

"Some thanks," he muttered, wincing and rubbing at his head.

"That headache is your own damn fault," Dean muttered, picking up the donut. It would at least get them to the next town, where Dean could find a real tire. "Give me the nuts and bolts." He held out one hand expectantly, concentrating on holding the spare in place with the other. When neither the nuts, nor the bolts, were forthcoming, Dean turned towards Sam. "Sam?"

Sam's 'I'm-as-guilty-as-hell' look flashed across his face.

"Saaaammm," Dean's careful drawl made Sam wince again, this time, not from the headache. "Where are the nuts and bolts?"

"Which, uh, nuts and bolts, exactly?" he hedged, eyes glancing around…there was the hub cap, face down in the puddle.

"Which bolts?" If Sam had been joking, the strangled look on Dean's face would have been hilarious. As it was, the rapidly purpling color only seemed to indicate Sam's future doom. Slowly, he scooted backwards in the puddle, ignoring the fact that he was entirely soaked from head to toe. Even his underwear appeared to be wet. "Which bolts?"

Backpedaling faster now, Sam's fingers scrambled for purchase in the muddy grass, and came across… "Look, here they are!"

Dean stared dubiously at the pile of glop in Sam's hands. Slowly, one large drop rolled precariously over Sam's pinky and dropped into the puddle with a loud 'plop.' "What the heck am I supposed to do with that, Sam?"

"Well, I'm not an expert mechanic, but I think you're supposed to attach them to the…"

"They are caked in mud, Sam!" Dean lifted up a wet hand, smoothing it over his dripping face, and doing nothing to stop the water from running into his eyes. "I can't put them on the Impala."

Sam dunked his hands in the puddle and pulled them back out, little rivulets of mud running down his arms. "There, as good as new." He tried hard not to flinch under Dean's murderous glare. Finally, Dean reached out and took the proffered hardware.

By the time Dean finished both of them were soaked and mind numbingly cold. Sam's headache had increased exponentially, his small shivers only increasing the tension in his neck and shoulders. To top it off, Dean's burrito was cold.

It took another half-an-hour to find the nearest backwater town, and Dean was just thankful that there was a mechanic's shop where he could get a tire. Luckily, there was also a motel. Deciding it would be better to stop for the night and worry about the car in the morning, Dean pulled up to the dilapidated building.

"The Dancing Cow…how promising," Dean muttered, reaching for the door handle. "I'll get the room, you grab the gear."

Sam unloaded the trunk, trying to avoid putting the duffels in any obvious puddles, which at this point, was a little difficult. Dean came storming out a minute later, muttering under his breath. _Middle of nowhere, backwards town…_

"What's wrong, Dean?"

"They wouldn't give us a freakin' room together, because they didn't want 'none of that funny business goin' on'." He turned and glared angrily at the office window. "There's no other motels in town." Dean sighed, fishing out a key and pressing it into Sam's hand. "Go get cleaned up in your room, and I'll meet you here in half an hour."

"How are they gonna know if we're in the same room, Dean?"

Glaring at the guy behind the counter, Dean sighed. "I have a feeling that they've got nothing better to do than watch us, Sam. Go get cleaned up so we can get some grub. I'm starving."

Sam sighed and took the room key, lifting his bag and trying not to wince as the motion aggravated the now pounding headache. Turning, he went to find his room, which he suspected was going to be on the opposite side of whichever Dean's was on. If it wasn't for the fact that he was nearly quaking from being wet and cold, and if his head didn't feel like there were tap dancing sumo wrestlers inside of it, Sam would have told Dean to drive to the next town. Or would have offered to sleep in the car. And prayed that the donut would hold.

Why couldn't either of them have really useful powers…like Obi-Wan Kenobi. Then he could just wave his hand…but, no. That would be bad. Mumbling under his breath, Sam jammed open the sticky motel door and sighed. Was the mattress supposed to touch the ground in the middle like that?

Dean's room wasn't much better. His mattress appeared firm enough, but if the mouse droppings all over the pillow indicated anything, he wasn't going to be sleeping very much tonight. But for the fact that Sam looked like he could keel over, and the fact that Dean was freakin' freezing, he would have driven half-way across the country and willed the donut to not explode. As it was, he was probably going to that mechanic shop before dinner and getting a tire. Sam could sleep in the backseat, but there was no way he was staying in here for the night.

Dropping his duffel in the only area not covered with feces, Dean pulled out dry clothes and carefully picked his way over to the shower, on the lookout for any overly large rodents. He wasn't thrilled about leaving Sam alone, especially with a demon after him. That was coupled with the fact that Sam hadn't really been out of his sight, unless he was with their dad or Bobby, since Dean had showed up at Stanford. And since Sam had just recently woken up screaming at night…Dean was getting the heck out of here as soon as he could.

Quickly, Dean ripped back the shower curtain, half expecting a man-eating rat to be in there. Other than some mold in the caulking, the tub was suspiciously empty. Relieved, he reached out to turn on the water, only to have the spicket sputter before spewing orange all over. "Eww!" Dean jumped backwards, glaring at his covered arm, watching as the water slowly changed to a pale yellow instead.

_You okay? _

_M'fine._

He could feel Sam's mental wince at his snap, and knew that he'd probably just ratcheted Sam's headache up a notch. _Sorry. _He added.

_S'okay, what happened?_

_Wasn't expecting the water to be…holy shit!_

A large black thing with a pinkish colored tail rocketed across the bathroom, over Dean's foot, and out the door. _Dean!_

There was no response as Dean stormed out the bathroom, not caring that the water was still running, stuffed his clothes back in his duffel, and nearly ran out the door, half open bag thumping rhythmically against his side as he sprinted to Sam's room. He banged on the closed door and it opened immediately, Sam's concerned face appearing. "Dean?"

"Get your crap, we're leaving."

"But…the car…and you're still wet…" Not to mention that Sam himself was soaked.

"Fine, we'll change, but then we're leaving."

Sam didn't ask why. He knew better than to do that when Dean was in this frame of mind. Instead he just stepped back, letting his brother in, and went back to his duffel, pulling out the warmest clothes he could find short of looking like the Michelin Man. Shudders still racking his body, he landed on sweatpants, two tees, and a hoodie.

Dean himself had just put on another pair of jeans and a tee, buttoning another long sleeve over it. "You feelin' okay, Sam?"

"Just cold," he shivered again, accentuating his point.

Dean knew that he wouldn't be nearly as cold if he hadn't done that stupid healing. But if he hadn't done that healing, they would probably still be stuck on the side of the road. "Sam. Thanks. You know…"

Sam smiled, wrapping the wet clothes in a bundle and stuffing them in the corner of his bag. "Don't, Dean." He paused, hand on the zipper. "I know this place isn't the Hilton, but is there a reason we're busting out early…minus my broken bed?"

"Just be glad you didn't make it to the bathroom yet," muttered Dean. "I have never seen a rat that big in my life. They've got to be feeding it steroids or something."

Ahh…that explained it.

"I mean, seriously, that thing was leaving human sized poo…"

"I think I get the picture, Dean. We still getting something to eat?"

"After I get a tire," he replied, swinging his bag up and wincing as Sam shuddered again. "Come on, let's get in the car and get the heat blasting. Good thing Ronny Rodreguiz was paying tonight, otherwise I'd be arguing to get our money back."

Sam was glad too. That would have been a waste of another twenty minutes. At this point, he was planning on spending the night in the backseat anyway. They loaded the trunk back up and Sam fell into the passenger's side, unsurprised, but grateful, when the leather jacket dropped over him. He toed off his wet sneakers, and leaned against the window, happy to hear the sound of the heaters working overtime.

They were silent on the short ride to the mechanic's shop, Sam's shudders thankfully lessening by then, leaving him drained and tired instead, the pounding in his head just adding to the feeling. "Stay in the car, kiddo. I'll be right back."

Sam nodded, eyes slipping shut as the door closed.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there before he realized that Dean hadn't returned. And then he felt the anger rolling off his brother. _Dean?_

_Stay in the car, Sam._

Like that was going to happen.

Sam stuffed his feet back into wet shoes, ignoring the squishing between his toes. Now that he was out of the car, Sam could hear the raised voices. "For the last time, he's my brother!"

"I got a call from Billy, he told me what you all are. We don't serve your kind here! So you can just get on out."

Sam appeared just as Dean grabbed the man by his collar, shoving him hard into the concrete-blocked wall. A wave of anger poured over Dean, and before he could stop it, not that he wanted to, his wings erupted. They were spread wide, the only hint of Dean's near death not long ago was the thin white line that ran vertically down the right one, barely noticeable among the iridescent black.

"God have mercy…" the mechanic whispered, eyes bulging out of his head.

"For the last time," Dean ground out.

"Dean!" Sam called.

"Not now, Sam."

"It's an angel of the Lord…"

"A what?" Dean turned, confusion playing across his features. "An…oh." He cleared his throat. "That's right, I am an angel of the Lord!"

_Dean! Don't you think we can get in trouble for impersonating angels?_

_Shush, Sammy, I'm on a roll._

"We have been sent to your small town to warn you."

The man trembled and averted his eyes.

"The Lord has been watching you and does not appreciate the way you have shunned his children. All are precious in the eyes of the Lord."

_Great Dean, now you're putting words into God's mouth. Like we aren't in enough trouble already._

_Relax, Sammy. Michael never said we couldn't pretend we're angels. Anyway, we're children of the angels, so…_

"The Lord wishes for a change, and so he has sent us as a warning. If you do not…remember Sodom and Gomorrah?"

The man nodded fervently.

"You're next. Now where's my tire?"

He pointed one trembling arm towards the stack in the corner.

"Thanks."

"I…I can change it for you…" the young man offered. "I'll even rotate and check your tire pressure. And change your oil."

Before Dean could protest, the kid had scurried to his feet and was diving for the tires. "This doesn't get you out of tithing on Sunday."

_Dean…_

_Sam, you gotta admit this is pretty funny._

_We're going to Hell._

"Is…is he an angel too?"

"Sam?" Dean turned from the quaking kid to his scroungy looking 6'4" brother. In sweatpants and a hoodie no less. His sneakers weren't even tied. "Oh yeah. You gotta watch out for Sam. He doesn't give warnings, he'll just kick your…"

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "Just put those things away and let's go find something to eat while the kid changes the tire."

Dean sighed and retracted his wings, rolling his shoulders as they disappeared. "I like them better out," he muttered. "We'll be back in an hour…and no talking to anyone, got it?"

"Uh-huh," the mechanic nodded fervently, already rolling the tire towards the Impala.

"Alright, Sam. Let's go."

They both stepped out into the rain and dashed across the street to an all night diner. "You can't just go around impersonating angels, Dean," Sam hissed, grimacing as his menu stuck to his fingers. Clearly this place did breakfast.

"I don't think its exactly an impersonation, Sam. Besides, I needed to stretch my wings."

Needing to stretch his wings was something Sam could understand. There was a constant itch, a need, to let them out. Because that was where they should be. They just couldn't. And it wasn't a smart idea to have them out in the Impala. As Sam quickly discovered, that generally resulted in a black eye, since the wings seemed to have a mind of their own, and would occasionally stretch themselves. Motel rooms were cramped which pretty much left…nowhere. Still, that wasn't an excuse for scaring the daylights out some guy and pretending to be God-sent. Even if the guy was a jerk.

Sam sighed, and then decided that it wasn't worth the argument. Not at the expense of his headache increasing. A young woman, the waitress Sam presumed, appeared, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "Look, I'm really sorry about this guys, but you've got to leave."

"Excuse me?" Dean's ire was rising again.

"It isn't me…the manager…he said that we don't serve 'your kind'…"

Dean's mouth opened, clearly about to utter something that Sam was sure he'd probably regret later.

_Dean!_

His jaw audibly clicked shut.

"Could we please speak to the manager," Sam glanced at the name tag, "Sarah?" He threw in his best whipped puppy look and smile.

She nearly sighed in relief. "Sure thing. JEB!" she hollered, disappearing into the back.

A rather large, middle aged man appeared in her stead. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but this is a family establishment. You'll have to go."

"I'm sorry, Jeb. We didn't get a chance to introduce ourselves. I'm Samuel Davis, I just recently opened a law office a couple of towns over with my brother, Dean." Sam nodded towards his brother. "Our tire blew just outside of town, so we thought we'd spend the night and leave in the morning…but the way this evening has gone, I think I may just have to contact the state about discrimination…"

Jeb swallowed hard. In sweat pants and a hoodie, this boy certainly didn't look like a lawyer. But he did talk like one. "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. There was a misunderstanding. Dinner's on the house. Let me go get Sarah…SARAH!"

_How come you can't lie when it counts?_

Sam just shrugged and smiled, sliding back into the booth. Sarah reappeared, taking their order, and disappeared again. As soon as she was out of sight, Sam let the smile fall from his face and his head thunked gently against the wall. "How's your head?"

"It's fine, Dean." He closed his eyes and then cracked them open again. "And no, I'm not getting sick. Worry-wart."

"I am not!" Dean gasped, affronted.

"Whatever, dude." He stretched and settled back again, staring down his older brother.

"What, Sam?"

"What are we doing?"

"Waiting for dinner. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Ha, ha, Dean. You know what I mean. I thought we were all aboard the hunting bandwagon."

Dean shrugged. "Just thought we deserved a break…you know. After everything." _Your girlfriend dying. Crazy powers. Demons, angels…me nearly dying, _Dean thought to himself. "Besides, if Dad needed us to do something, he'd let us know." He cleared his throat. "Maybe we should go see the Grand Canyon."

"What aren't you telling me, Dean?"

"Nothing." His eyes widened slightly and his voice rose in pitch. Crap.

"Oh, no. What's going on? You aren't telling me something."

"Nothing's going on, Sam."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What happened when you were alone with Michael and Uriel, Dean?"

Dean floundered for a second, unsure of whether or not to continue with the lie. He was saved by the bell, literally, as it tinkled over the doorway. The door swung open, revealing a young man about Sammy's age. It could have been any person just out of college. With bulging muscles. And that 'I'm-holier-than-thou' look. At least he wasn't carrying around the flaming sword.

"I told you we were going to get into trouble," hissed Sam.

Another, slightly shorter and older man followed behind him, long tan coat dripping and leaving a small puddle on the ground. His hair was a little longer than Dean's, and a little messier, but the look on his face was just a stern as his counterparts.

Sam sunk down slightly in his seat. It was probably a good sign that neither of them had swords strapped to their backs.

Then again, they could just take them outside and kill them.

Dean stood, glaring at the angels. Both took careful steps across the run-down establishment, but headed straight for the booth.

"Michael," Dean greeted carefully.

"Sit, Dean Winchester. We have much to talk about."

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Can't promise when the next update will be, though I'm hoping soon. Flames will be used to heat poor Sammy up. Let me know what you think! Much love.**


	2. Keeping the Faith

**A/N: Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews and favorites, I appreciate it! If anyone has any suggestions let me know! Off we are with chapter number two…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own nothing. (Whoops, double negative. Okay, so I own the DVDs…and that's about it). Chapter title taken from a song by Billy Joel.**

**Much love and enjoy!**

**Highway to Hell**

**Chapter Two: Keeping the Faith**

Dean sat. Michael slipped into the booth next to him, and the other angel slid in next to Sam. "Dean, Sam, this is Castiel."

Castiel nodded solemnly in acknowledgment of his name.

Dean nodded back.

"Hey," Sam thrust out his hand, which Castiel took very carefully, lifting it up once before quickly dropping it.

Before anyone could say anything else, Sarah was bustling back over with Sam's soup and salad and Dean's cardiac arrest on a plate. "Oh, I didn't know you were expecting someone else! What can I get you boys?"

"Strawberry milkshake," said Michael quickly. "And pie. Please."

"What kind? We have rhubarb, blueberry, and…"

"All three, please."

Dean's eyebrow raised appraisingly. Perhaps he could get to like this angel.

"And for you?" she turned to Castiel.

"Coffee. Please."

"Anything else?"

"No, that will be all." And with that she was dismissed.

"So…uh, about the angel impersonation," Dean started.

"Huh?" Michael turned. "What angel impersonation?"

Sam snorted. "Nice one, Dean. Ow!" He rubbed at his shin, glaring daggers across the table.

"There were just these kids running around with these fake wings…" Dean started. He was interrupted by the bell, once again, ringing. This time revealing the mechanic.

He hustled over to the booth, shifting nervously from one foot to the other when he reached them. "She's as good as knew, sir. I fixed up the tire, and I got you a new spare. Oh, and I changed the oil. And I figured I'd replace the wipers while I was at it…"

"Thanks, man," Dean said, sticking his hand out to shake the kid's.

"Wow," the young man whispered. "I've been touched by an angel!"

"Well, he's no Roma Downing," Sam muttered.

Michael's eyebrows were raised as he glanced from Dean, to the mechanic, and back again. "Angel?"

Dean shrugged as Sam tried not to grin.

"I can see why Uriel wanted to smite them," Castiel murmured, watching as the mechanic nearly skipped off.

Sarah reappeared, and Michael scooped up his fork, stabbing at the pie. "Dis is gud. Tanks," he smiled at Sarah, who smiled back and handed Castiel his coffee, flouncing off.

"Some arch angel you are," Castiel murmured, blowing on the black liquid and taking a sip.

"Yeah, well, this is mankind's best invention yet. Dessert." He took another bite, and swallowed, stabbing his fork in Dean's direction. "Technically, you're as much angel as you are human, so it isn't quite an impersonation. You," he stabbed his fork at Sam, "I don't know what you are." He cleared his throat and then continued. "Just try not to do it in the future. If reports of angels stop popping up everywhere, we're gonna end up in trouble."

"I didn't mean to," muttered Dean.

"I know," Michael reached for the milkshake, popping the cherry in his mouth. "Right, so, back to business."

"You aren't here to kill us?" asked Sam hopefully.

"No…no. If I was, Uriel would have insisted on coming along."

Castiel snorted. "He's going to be ticked off he didn't get to come anyway."

"Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him," Michael shot back.

"He'll find out," Castiel muttered, "He always does."

"So we all think Uriel is a bastard?" inquired Dean.

Castiel fought to keep a grin of his face and Michael sighed. "Uriel can be…difficult at times. This is beside the point. And it has nothing to do with the reason why we are here."

"Okay…" Dean looked at the arch angel expectantly.

"We have a job for you."

"We as in…"

"He has a job. For both of you."

"The Big Guy?"

_Dean!_

_Calm down. Spastic much?_

Castiel appeared to be floored. Perhaps angels didn't refer to God as 'the Big Guy.'

"Uh…yeah…at least that's what the grapevine is saying," Michael took another stab at the pie.

Dean, in turn, stabbed a fry in his direction. "So you're sayin' you don't know who the job came from?"

"Dean, why don't we just find out what the job is, first?" Sam's pinched look told Dean that he was tired of playing games and just wanted to get out of here.

Michael cleared his throat and leaned over, snagging one of Dean's fries, causing a muffled protest. "Well, it appears that Azazel…"

"Awhatzel? Is that like schnitzel?"

"Is everything food to you, Dean?"

"Not everything Sam, just the important stuff."

"Azazel is a demon," Castiel clarified. He had the same look on his face that Sam had. Dean had a sinking suspicion that this angel was going to be a big party pooper. "Who I think that you refer to as 'Ole Yellow Eyes.'"

"It has a name?"

"Clearly, Dean, or they wouldn't have just told us that."

"I think it's time for your nap, Sam."

Sam just glared.

"Right," Michael began again. "Gabriel was in charge of watching Azazel, and he reported some disturbing news. Apparently there are more of you." He waved his fork in Sam's general direction.

Dean and Sam both glanced at each other, confused. "There's Sammy clones running around? Is it a bunch of Shifters? And, no offense Sam, but why would they want to be him? I mean…c'mon…wouldn't you rather run around as…I don't know, Brad Pitt?"

"Not more Sams," Castiel clarified, at this point looking more frustrated than Sam did, "More people like Sam."

"Thanks," Michael slurped at the remains of his shake. "Right, kids that were given demon blood at the age of sixth months, and are now running around with crazy demonic powers that they don't know what to do with."

_If he wants us to kill them, I'm leaving._

_I'll be right behind you, Sam._

"We think that Sam can find them. Raphael was trying, but he's having a hard time…especially since there has been a rise in demonic activity as of late."

"I…can…I can't find…"

"Hold on a second," started Dean, "Even if Sam could somehow find them, which I'm not sure how, what are you going to do when we do find them? Smite them? Send them on a one way trip to the giant fish fry? Just because something happened to them that they couldn't control?"

Michael shifted slightly, and then sighed.

"If it is necessary," Castiel answered for him.

"Castiel," Michael admonished. "I don't think that's the best way to explain things."

"I'm not killing anybody," Dean stood, starting to push past Michael. "Let's go, Sam."

"Sit."

"No."

"Sit," Michael commanded, and Dean sat.

"You know, us humans don't like when we don't get a choice," Dean snapped, trying to wriggle, but unable to move due to Michael's mental hold. "You can let me go, I'm not gonna high-tail it."

"The proposition is this. You can continue hunting as usual. You can continue lying, cheating, and stealing. Yes, you can still hustle pool. But if Sam does happen to be able to find these people, if you do stumble across any of them…you call for Castiel. And then you decide together whether the soul is pure or not. If they can be redeemed.

"You see, with Sam, we just recently realized that the souls may still be pure. But this may just be because of Sam's angelic nature. Power does tend to corrupt the human soul."

"And if they can't be redeemed?" Dean asked quietly.

Castiel grimaced. "Then Uriel gets to step in."

"We don't have to kill anyone?" Sam asked quietly. "Because I can't kill a person. I won't."

Michael turned towards him suddenly. "You may be surprised what you are capable of Sam Winchester. But to answer your question, no, you will not be required to kill anyone." He licked the last of the pie from his fork.

"Good," Dean nodded. "Can we go now?"

"Of course," Michael released the invisible hold, and Dean sagged in his seat.

Reaching into his pocket, Dean pulled out the car keys, tossing them to his brother. "Go get the car, Sam. I'll be right out. And then we'll try to find a motel that Master Splinter is not inhabiting."

"'Kay, Dean," Sam mumbled just glad to get his aching head away from the angels and back towards the car and possibly sleep.

As soon as Sam was out the door, he rounded on Michael. "What if the demons come after Sam?"

Castiel glanced up from his coffee mug. "Why would you think that they'd do that?"

"Because he's the freakin' Prince of whatever, that's why. I mean, supernatural crap has always been attracted to him…I guess he's just one big homing beacon. And if they think he's supposed to be their heir, or leader, or whatever…well, if I was them, I'd be pretty pissed and try to off him."

Michael shrugged. "We can't foretell the future Dean. Only our Father knows what will happen."

"So it could happen. I just have one question. Even though his soul is pure…can Sammy still fall?"

"Some believe that," Michael said quietly. "Others don't. I think the only important thing is your faith in him Dean. In the end, I believe that your faith in him may be the only thing that matters." And with that, he was gone.

When Dean turned to look, Castiel was gone also.

Sighing, he headed for the diner door and towards the familiar safety of his car. He needed a stiff drink.

*~~*

It hadn't taken much convincing to get Sam to stretch out in the back. The kid was clearly wiped. He'd been half asleep before Dean even made it out to the car, and with a promise that he was going to pull over and catch himself a couple of hours as soon as he found a good spot, Sam had willingly climbed into the back, asleep before they'd even left the parking lot. Dean had once said that the Impala was the only cradle that Sam had ever known or needed. It appeared that he was still right about that.

Dean didn't feel guilty about the lie.

He wasn't pulling over tonight.

He planned on driving as far and as fast as he could from this backwards town.

And those stupid angels. Why couldn't they just leave them alone?

Dean accelerated, pushing the car harder than he should on the wet road. He didn't care. It was getting dark out now, the sun finally disappearing over the horizon line. And with Sam safely ensconced in the back seat, he could be alone with his thoughts.

Dean knew that he should tell Sam about the whole next leader of Hell thing. That when Sam found out that he was going to be royally pissed. Probably even more than he was at their dad for keeping the secret about the demon blood.

But to tell Sam would be to acknowledge the possibility.

To make it real.

Dean didn't want to make it real. So mum was the word.

He should have told the angels to get the hell out of their lives.

As it was, he didn't promise them anything, but couldn't they see the toll this was already taking on Sam? His entire being was at war with itself, the demon and angelic sides each trying to sabotage each other, leaving him exhausted at the end of each day. Sam was good, Dean knew that. But if Sam started to doubt…

_My faith in Sam…_Did the angels know more than they were letting on? Clearly someone did.

It didn't help that Sam obviously knew that something was wrong.

And Dean had to admit, he could have been a _little_ more subtle. Since when had he not liked hunting?

Sam's suspicions were mounting, but Dean wasn't thrilled about letting the kid on another hunt, despite the fact that he was going to have no choice soon. But he couldn't help flashing back to the sight of his brother plummeting from that catwalk. He'd managed to catch him, and then drop him, but at least he caught him before they fell. Bad things had always been attracted to Sam. Dean had always thought it was because he was so good…but now he wasn't sure. Maybe they were attracted to that darkness in Sam…

"Dean…" Sam murmured from the back, before rolling over and pressing his face into the seat. "Deee…"

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. Sam had been having nightmares since he'd been little, but they were worse lately, vision enhanced things that left him screaming and panting. For now, Sam appeared to be fine, but if it got worse, Dean knew he'd have to pull over.

The rain had started up again, going from one or two harmless drops to a downpour in a matter of two seconds flat. Wide puddles were already growing on the road, the water coming down too fast for the already saturated earth to absorb it.

"Slooww downnn, Deeann," Sam slurred, head tossing again.

That didn't sound like a run-of-the mill nightmare. Unless Dean was whupping Sammy in a race. Which was always a possibility. Since big brothers always won. Even if their little brother's legs were disproportionately long.

Sam calmed again, and so Dean nixed the idea of pulling over, instead trying to make out the blurry road by his wavering headlights. He was distracted as his phone rang, and he scooped it up one-handed, flipping it open with a distracted, "Huh?"

"_Where are you boys?_" Bobby's tinny voice rang out in the silent car, the only other noise that of the pounding rain and overworked wipers.

"Uhh…" To be honest, Dean wasn't sure. It wasn't like he'd really cared where they were the past couple of weeks.

"_I've hardly heard anything from you since you up and left._"

"Look, Bobby…it's a long story…"

"Deeeannn, sloowww dowwww…"

Dean's concentration was now split between Bobby, the road, and his moaning brother. Sam's cheeks look flushed, and for a second Dean worried that he was running a fever.

"_I don't care if it's a Hundred Years of Solitude, Dean._"

"Look, Bobby…"

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror again and nearly crapped himself as Sam suddenly sat straight up, screaming. "DEAN! LOOK OUT!"

Dean's eyes flicked towards the front. "Holy Shit!" Dean stomped on the break, intent on stopping before he hit the little girl in the middle of the road.

The car hydroplaned and Dean dropped the phone, gripping the steering wheel hard with both hands and turning, trying to swerve the car out of its current path. Distantly, he could hear Bobby calling his name, and then the car stopped, pointed in the total opposite direction of where it had started and resting on the wrong side of the road.

Dean was panting heavily and he could hear Sam gasping behind him. Bobby was still yelling from the passenger seat. Snatching the phone, Dean just said, "Gotta go," and snapped the phone shut. It rang and vibrated a second later, but Dean just shoved it into his pocket, already reaching for his gun. The child had yet to move.

Glancing again in the mirror, he caught his brother's pale face, noting the fact that Sam was pinching the bridge of his nose and grimacing. "Vision?"

"Yeah," Sam gasped. "Seem to be getting them whenever you're in trouble."

"Nice to know you care."

Sam's phone started ringing this time, but both of them ignored it.

"Is she…" Dean started.

"Dead? I don't know," Sam shrugged. "Maybe she's just in shock…I mean, you did almost run her over." He bent at the waist, reaching his arm under the front bench and removing his sword, strapping it onto his back before leaning forward and snapping open the glove box for his spare handgun.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, if isn't a spirit, she's going to need some help. I don't think there are a lot of six-year-olds running around in the middle of the night without parents, Dean." He paused. "We would have been the exception to that rule."

"We were the exception to every rule," Dean muttered, his pocket vibrating as he reached under the seat for his own sword. "I think Bobby's gonna be pissed…"

Sam shrugged again and opened the door. "At you. You're the one that hung up on him."

"You're the one that nearly caused us to get wrapped around a tree…"

"If you hadn't been going so fast," Sam snapped, already taking long strides towards the girl.

Dean was right on his heels, about to argue, when the girl turned towards them. Her hair had, at one point, been in two golden pigtails, one had fallen out, the other was matted with what appeared to be different leaves and branches. There was blood running from a cut on her forehead, her one eye swollen nearly shut, and her nightgown was torn and stained. The white was soaked and nearly see through, her feet bare and bloody. Sam took another step towards her and she gasped, stepping backwards and tripping over the hem of her nightgown, landing hard in a large puddle on the asphalt.

"No…please…" she whimpered, backpedaling and scrambling for purchase on the wet road.

She was older than they had originally thought, probably closer to ten than six. And she looked rather solid. No flickering or fuzzing out. And she definitely wasn't trying to attack them. "It's okay, sweetie," Dean said gently, stepping in front of his brother.

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered, glancing around wide-eyed as Dean knelt down in front of her, Sam following suit.

"Honey, we need to get you off the road so someone doesn't hit you…"

She shook her head, tossing around the remains of her pigtails. "Mommy said I can't go anywhere with strangers…" Tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the rainwater.

"Well, uh, we're not strangers," Sam supplied.

"You're not?" She looked suspiciously at both of them.

"No, we're not."

Dean shot Sam a look of incredulity, clearly having no idea where Sam was going with any of this.

"Then who are you?"

Sam cleared his throat, knowing full well that Dean was gonna ride his ass later. And he'd deserve after he'd chewed Dean out for the same thing. "We're angels."

Injuries and fear forgotten, the child stood and placed little fists defiantly on her hips. "Then where's your wings?"

Very slowly, Sam released his wings, gently unfurling them. There went another perfectly good shirt.

"Woah…" she whispered, eyes lighting up as she took a full scan of Sam and his attire. "Does this mean I can wear sweat pants in church?"

Dean snorted. Sam was going to set the new church-going style. "Uhh…" Sam looked to Dean for help.

"I think you need to wear what your mommy tells you to wear, sweetheart."

"You're an angel too?"

Dean nodded, releasing his wings, relishing in the feel of the water running down the feathers.

"Cool!" She paused licking her lips. "Can you fly?"

"I'm really good at flying," said Dean.

"And crash landings," mumbled Sam, trying to hide his grin, sobering when Dean shot him a look.

"I was praying that angels would come and save me and Mommy! I was praying super hard…are you here to save my mommy?" Her eyes went wide and filled with tears, sparkling in the Impala's headlights.

_You think it's up our alley?_

_I don't think we can just leave her here, Dean._

_Well, no duh._

"Why don't we get you over to the car, sweetie, and dried off," Dean said gently, holding out a hand.

He was nearly knocked off his feet when she flung herself at him full force and he ended up with an armful of ten-year-old. Almost automatically both his arms and wings wrapped around her, hiding her from sight as he stood. For a second, he remembered Sam at the same age, throwing himself at Dean when he walked in battered and bruised from a hunt, and he hugged the little girl closer.

Sam had already taken off for the car, trunk open as he pulled out one of the duffels and riffled through it, snatching up one of his t-shirts and another hoodie.

The clothes weren't for him, instead he handed them to Dean, who in turn handed them to the girl, who in turn told them not to look and slammed the door shut. Leaving them out in the rain.

_At this rate we won't have any more dry clothes._

_We'll hit a laundromat at the next town we come across, Sam. We were running low on clean clothes anyway. _

_What did Bobby want?_

Dean shrugged and was saved from answering as the little girl opened the door. "Mommy said I always should introduce myself. I'm Anna."

"Well, Anna," Dean smiled, "I'm Dean and this is Sam."

"Can I see your cut, Anna?" Sam asked softly. "I think I can make that all better for you."

"Okay," she said, sitting on the edge of the seat. Sam knelt down beside the car and reached out his hand, gently brushing over the right side of her face. When he pulled away the swelling was gone and all that was left was drying blood. "Wow…" Anna whispered.

Sam stood and stumbled slightly, the pressure in his head too much for a second, before he straightened, gripping the roof of the car for support.

_Sam…_

_I'm fine, Dean._

That was debatable, but Dean knew they couldn't afford to argue now. Clearly something bad had happened to Anna, and her mother, and they needed to figure out what. "Anna," he said gently, "Can you tell me what happened to you and your mother?"

"It was the garden gnome," she whispered, eyes darting to scan the darkness behind them. Sam turned, scanning too, as if somehow he could see the creature.

Dean bit his lip. "The garden gnome?" he asked skeptically.

Anna nodded furiously.

_Dean…_Sam warned, tamping down on the laughter that was growing inside his head.

_C'mon on Sam…a garden gnome?_

"He had a knife. He tied up my mommy…"

"The garden gnome?"

_Dean!_

Anna nodded again. "He wasn't mean at first. Mommy found him at a tag sale. He wanted to play with me, and help around the house."

"Help around the house?" asked Sam. "How?"

"He made my bed. And he helped with the dishes."

"When did he become mean?" Sam knelt down again in front of Anna. "Did something happen?"

"Mommy said that I had to stop talking to him. And to not help anymore with the dishes because she didn't want me to get hurt. She didn't think he was real."

Sam nodded seriously. "Did he say he felt insulted?"

"Yeah…I asked him to go away, but he said it was his house and he wouldn't leave."

Sam nodded again. "Okay, sweetie. I need to talk to Dean for a minute, so I'm just gonna close the door. If you're cold there's blankets under the seat, okay?"

"Okay."

Sam softly shut the door and turned towards Dean.

"Seriously Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"Seriously."

"Yes, seriously, Dean."

"If Caleb finds out we'll never live it down," Dean muttered.

"Oh, come on, Dean, how often do you get to hunt killer garden gnomes?"

Dean just glared.

**A/N: And we're off to gnome hunt. Hope you enjoyed. All flames will go to helping the boys toast the garden gnome! Please read/review and let me know what you think! As always, feel free to play in this 'verse, just let me know so I can stop by and read it! Much love. :)**


	3. Hysteria

**A/N: Howdy Doody! Made it through my first day of classes without falling asleep, and for that, I will reward you with the next chapter! (Though my professors probably appreciated the not napping more than you do…) I own nothing. The chapter title is taken from Def Leppard. Enjoy!**

**Highway to Hell**

**Chapter Three: Hysteria**

Anna was backseat driving, and Dean was attentively following her directions. Wet, and miserable about having to hunt some stupid gnome, he was at least happy to see that the rain was letting up. Sam was on the phone beside him.

"Sorry about not calling Bobby…" he had a notebook balanced on one knee and a pen in his hand. "It's kinda a long story and we sorta need your help with something…uh, sure we'll stop by for Christmas…"

_Is he making a turkey?_

_Dean!_

"Right, no, we're okay, Dean just hydroplaned the car…well, actually, what do you know about killer garden gnomes?"

Dean could imagine Bobby laughing his ass off right now. They were going to be the laughingstock of the entire hunting community. Just wait until their dad found out…

"Well, it befriended a child, wanted to help around the house. I was thinking something along the lines of a brownie…but they don't get violent. This one said it felt insulted…a what?"

Sam scribbled something across the pad, muttering "Uh-huh."

_What is it?_

_Hold on, Dean._

_What is it, Sam?_

_Hold on._

"So how do you get rid of them…uh-huh…" There was more scribbling. Dean leaned over to see and Sam smacked him away.

_Pay attention to the road before you hit someone else. _

Dean growled and turned back towards the road.

"Okay…thanks Bobby. Yeah. You too."

Sam flipped the phone shut.

"So what is it?"

"A Kobold."

"Huh?" Dean looked over. "What's a koabled?"

"A Kobold."

"Yeah, whatever that is." Anna was listening intently from the backseat.

Sam nodded towards the back and Dean glanced in the rearview mirror.

_Right we have company. So what is it? _

_Like a brownie, kobolds are spirits that help around the house._

_Well, that doesn't seem too bad._

_No, not really. But the kobold are spirits of murdered children, and they usually carry around a knife to symbolize their violent death. _

_Oh. So why the ugly gnome thing?_

_Centuries ago, people carved the gnomes out of wood or mandrake root to catch the spirits and put them to work in the house. Once in a house, they were attached to it and bound to help._

_So the spirit was in the gnome that Anna's mom bought?_

_That's what I'd bet._ Sam sighed and looked out the window.

_So why did it go Chuckie all of a sudden?_

_Anna's mother inadvertently insulted it. _

_Uh-huh…so how do we get rid of it?_

Sam squirmed in his seat, glancing at Dean. "That's kinda the tricky part."

"Please tell me you can get rid of it," Dean hissed.

"Right here," Anna chimed.

Dean signaled and turned.

"Uhh…maybe…"

"Maybe?"

"It's bound to the freakin' house, Dean!"

Anna's eyes widened. "Does this mean I can say bad words too?"

Sam's jaw dropped and Dean's eyes lit up. "No, sweetie, it doesn't mean you can say bad words," Dean said. "Don't you worry, though, I'll punish Sammy-boy later."

_Jerk._

_Bitch._

_Whose using bad words now?_

_How do we get rid of it, Sam?_

"Bobby said we can try insulting it."

"Isn't that what started this whole thing…and how would we insult it anyway?"

"By giving it clothes."

Dean's eyebrow raised skeptically. "And here I would just call it an…"

"Dean…company."

"Oh, right." He paused. "Any other options?"

"Uh…he gave me an exorcism to try, but both of those can end up cursing the house."

"Great."

"We can torch the house…"

"Somehow I don't think that'll go over too well…" Dean sighed. "That's too bad, because I do love setting things on fire."

"Bobby said the most successful way is to knife it then burn it. He wasn't too certain, but some of the lore says they can shape shift."

"Into what?"

"Feathers, flames…"

"Good grief," muttered Dean. "So we have to knife all the pillows in the house? Let's just torch the whole sucker."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Left here. You aren't going to set my house on fire, are you?"

"No, Anna," said Sam firmly. "We aren't going to set your house on fire."

_Bummer._

"There it is." Anna pointed to a two-story house on the right hand side. It had a cute picket fence and the lawn was scattered with toys. The gnome was noticeably absent.

"Okay, Anna," said Dean, pulling up in front of the house. "No matter what happens, I want you to stay in the car. If Sammy and I aren't back," he glanced at his watch…it was nearly four in the morning now…how long had he been driving? "By the time it's light out, I want you to take this phone," he passed his phone back, "and call this number."

Dean scribbled a number across the front of the notebook Sam had been writing in. "This is the number for Father Jim. He'll be able to send someone to help you, okay?"

"Okay." Anna clutched the phone tightly in one hand and the notebook in the other.

"Tell him Sam and Dean told you to call and that you need someone to come and get you. Then tell him where you live."

Jim would know which hunters were in the area and what one to send to get the child if this ended badly.

Then again, if he and Sam got taken down by a garden gnome, they were never going to live it down. Turning to his brother, Dean cleared his throat. "Do you think a flaming sword would have the same effect as knifing and burning?"

Sam shrugged. "Let's go find out."

"Stay here, Anna," Dean admonished one more time, before jumping out the door. Making sure the car was locked behind them, both boys started for the front of the house. There weren't any lights on inside. Even the porch lights were out.

"Let's go around the back," Sam whispered.

Dean nodded and they both slipped around the house, looking for a back door.

Down the street a cat yowled and the sound of clattering trashcans followed, causing Sam to jump, his wings snapping out in surprise. "Dude, get down," hissed Dean, and Sam realized that he was fluttering a few feet above the ground.

"Sorry."

"Geez, jumpy much?"

Sam just glared and they continued picking their way through the dark yard. Dean stepped on something squishy and yelped, jumping backwards, wings flaring out and smacking Sam in the face. "Shit, Dean, you broke my nose," Sam muttered, pressing his hand to his face to stem the bloody flow.

"Serves you right after you broke mine," Dean muttered, looking closer at the offending object. "I think I killed a toad."

Sam bent down. "Nah, looks like dog crap to me. And you broke mine first."

"You were twelve, Sam."

"Let's just kill this thing and hit the road. We're gonna have to drive straight through for the next week to make it to Bobby's in time for Christmas."

"Why did you tell him we were coming anyway?"

Dean turned to demand an answer from his brother, but all he saw was a stiff look of surprise. "What?"

"Gnome," Sam whispered.

Dean turned and looked ahead. There was nothing. Then he looked down.

It wasn't very tall. Average garden gnome size. Big fat round middle, green coat, red hat…

Blood dripping from the knife held in its fist.

Chucky was much scarier when you were actually living it.

One second it was there, and the next, it was gone.

"OW!" Dean jumped, then proceeded to bounce up and down on one foot. "Little shit bit my ankle!"

A door slammed somewhere behind the house, and both boys took off. They slowed as they reached the back patio, looking at the still swinging screen door. "It's in the house," Dean whispered.

Sam didn't say anything, just reached for his sword and pulled it out in one swift motion. It jumped to life in his hand, flames glowing brightly in the backyard.

They still hadn't figured out how to turn the things on and off at will, but they seemed to burn when the boys needed them too, otherwise remaining lifeless pieces of metal. As long as they didn't set his car on fire, Dean didn't really care how they worked.

Dean reached for his sword as well, the added flames bathing the entire backyard in enough light to probably wake the neighbors, so both boys hurried into the house.

The door opened into the kitchen. Everything was neat and tidy. There were no dishes in the sink and all the chairs were pushed in. Nothing was out of place, except for the bleeding body on the floor.

Sam rushed to the woman's side, quickly laying his sword down next to him. It stayed lit, but didn't catch the floor on fire, which Dean considered a plus. Sam's fingers went to the woman's neck, pushing back limp blonde locks. "She's still alive, Dean."

Sam rolled her over onto her back and gasped. Across her stomach was a long slash that was streaming blood onto the white linoleum, and for a second, all Sam could think of was Jess. Sam started reaching trembling fingers towards the wound, intent on healing it, when a flash of green and red flew across his vision and hurtled from the room.

Sam hissed and pulled his arm back, a thin red line already blooming across the top of his hand.

"Where'd he go?" Dean asked quickly scanning the room. "Where's Captain Ugly?"

"Don't name him, Dean!"

"Huh? Why not?"

"It gives them more power!"

"That would have been nice to know five minutes ago, Sam!"

They were interrupted as one of the drawers suddenly opened and a large number of knives floated up. Slowly, they turned until they were pointing at the brothers. Dean counted fifteen in all.

Sam was still kneeling by the woman, clearly trying to decide whether he should throw his body across hers, or just high tail it.

It was too late to decide.

The knives zoomed forward, intent on impaling the boys. Dean threw his hand out, pushing back against the invisible force, and the knives wavered, freezing in midair.

A large bread knife on the end began trembling, and moved forward half an inch.

"Oh no you don't," grunted Dean.

Sam turned towards his brother, trying to see if there was someway he could help. And that's when he saw it.

The gnome was barely three inches from Dean's ankle. While Dean was occupied, it was sneaking up behind him. Dean was so busy trying to keep the knives at bay, he'd never noticed the creaking floor.

The problem was, the gnome had apparently never noticed Sam.

Very slowly, the gnome crept forward, and Sam's hand snaked out, grasping his sword.

Both the gnome and Sam dove at the same time. Startled, Dean lost his concentration. Sam lunged, the sword darting out and beheading the gnome in one swift move.

Dean had leapt backwards, the gnome's body immediately igniting, and the knives clattered uselessly towards the ground, minus the bread knife.

The bread knife lunged forward as the kobold expended the last of its energy and tore right through Sam's shoulder, clipping his wing.

Sam arched and dropped his sword, which immediately stopped burning, falling to his hands and knees, muffling a cry as he jarred his injured left arm. Beside him, the gnome continued to burn until there was nothing left but a pile of ash.

"Sam!"

Dean dropped to knees beside his brother, placing one hand on his chest and the other on his back for support.

"M'fine, Dean," he panted, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath to get the pain under control. "It's just a flesh wound."

"Look, kiddo, you ain't Monty Python."

"I'm fine," Sam repeated, hauling himself up into a sitting position. Immediately he attempted to reach for the woman still unconscious on the floor, but Dean's hand on his wrist stopped him.

"Uh-uh. She's not bleeding out. We'll call the paramedics and she'll be fine."

"But I can heal her," Sam protested.

"Yeah, but you can't heal yourself, Sam!" Dean snapped. "Draining all your energy on her is only going to make it harder for you to get better. I won't let you."

Sam went to protest, but Dean jerked the knife from his shoulder, cutting off anything that Sam could have possibly been trying to say. Instead he was left attempting to get his breathing under control, again, while trying to keep his vision from whiting out.

Dean stood and returned a second later, dishtowels in hand. He pressed them to both sides of the wound. "Hold these," he said, guiding Sam's hand up. He disappeared again and started pulling open drawers, returning with more towels and masking tape.

Dean packed the wound with the dishtowels and secured it with the masking tape. "Good thing you already ruined this hoodie with your wings. Looks like we're gonna have to go shopping soon, though."

"Great," Sam muttered, still sullen over Dean's refusal to let him heal Anna's mother.

"Come on, Sam," Dean stood, offering Sam a hand. "I've got a sling in the trunk for your arm and then we can call the cops and blow this popsicle stand."

"Thanks," Sam said, taking the proffered arm and securing his sword when Dean handed it to him. He followed Dean out the door and towards the Impala. "Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's not tell Dad about this one, okay?"

"Afraid to tell him you got beat up by a garden gnome?"

"I'm not the one that got bit, Dean."

And Dean didn't really have anything to say to that.

*~~*

Christmas with Bobby hadn't sounded like such a bad idea. Especially since he'd promised turkey if they showed up.

Of course, in retrospect, Dean would have probably snatched that phone off of Sam and told Bobby there was no way in hell that they could make it.

He hadn't expected for Sam to get injured, again. Though he probably should have.

He hadn't expected his ankle to get infected. Stupid garden gnome had rabies or something.

He hadn't expected the migraine that Sam would get from attempting to heal said infection when Dean wasn't paying attention.

He hadn't expected having to spend twenty-four hours laid up because Sam couldn't move without vomiting from said migraine, caused by said infection.

He hadn't expected the snowstorm an hour out from Bobby's house at ten at night on Christmas Eve. Or the black ice.

"Damn!" Dean snapped, smacking the flat of his hand off the steering wheel. "No turkey is worth this shit."

"Pull over until it clears up, Dean," Sam mumbled, crushing himself closer towards the door and huddling deeper under his jacket. Sometime during the past three hours, the heater had blown in the Impala, which meant that they were freezing as the temperature rapidly dropped.

"Then we will freeze to death, Sam. Besides, I need to get into town or we're going to run out of fuel."

"Bobby'll give us a tow," he blinked open one eye, shuddered as he caught the set of his brother's shoulders, and huddled even closer to the door. This time for safety reasons. He needed to stay far out of Dean's reach.

"I'm sure he'll give us a tow…and then Caleb will hear about it and somehow it'll get around to Dad…"

Sam flinched at the mention of John. He wasn't sure what he currently felt about the man's hit and run attitude. Especially since he was still convinced that his father hated him. He was saved from responding to his older brother as his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. Fumbling with stiff fingers, he managed to pull it out and flip it open. "Yeah?" he winced as his teeth clacked loudly. Figures he'd get cold quicker than Dean.

"_Where are you boys, it's a white-out out there." _Even Dean could hear Bobby through the tinny phone.

"We know, Bobby. About an hour out…but with the snow..."

"_You should pull over, the rear-wheel drive…" _

"Tell him I already have one backseat driver, Sam. I don't need another one."

"Sure thing, Bobby. We were just going to pull over now."

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam's voice always rose when he was lying.

"_Liar." _

"We'll be there soon, Bobby," Sam replied, snapping the phone shut and rubbing at his eyes.

"You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine." Sam glanced over at Dean, but saw he hadn't done anything to waylay his older brother's concern.

"You hung up on Bobby. That's more my forte."

"Yeah. Well…" Sam looked out the window, a sheen of white flakes caught by headlights were blinding in the dark night.

He ignored Dean and flipped his phone back open, carefully pushing the second number on his speed dial. No one picked up, and he hadn't expected them too.

"Hey Dad, it's…it's Sam…Dean and I kinda got stuck in a snowstorm on the way to Bobby's and…well…" God, was he going to cry? His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, rubbing again at his eyes with his free hand.

"I'm sorry…about…everything. I know you're still mad…"

The voicemail cut him off and Sam dialed again, waiting until it rolled once again into the messaging service. "Merry Christmas, Dad. I love you."

Dean's hand reached out, snagging the phone from Sam before he could shut it. Sam shouldn't have to apologize. Not after their father's behavior in the past months, not after…Dean cleared his throat. "Merry Christmas, Dad." He tossed the phone to the seat and reached out, squeezing Sam's arm. "Dad loves you, Sammy. Don't you ever think otherwise."

"I know." Sam's voice rose.

*~~*

It turned out that there wasn't even turkey. Bobby had somehow managed to catch the oven on fire. Dean was just thankful that the Chinese joint in town had decided to stay open for the holidays.

Unsurprisingly, their Dad didn't call back. Not that Dean had expected him too. If the man was involved in a hunt, it could be weeks before he even checked his messages. Pastor Jim called though, glad to hear that Sam was holding up okay during this trying period, and Dean remembered for the first time in awhile that Sam had recently lost his girlfriend. Sam would have spent the holidays with her family. Eating a non-burnt turkey. With a tree, and presents. Perhaps an engagement ring if Dean had read his brother right.

But Sam hadn't mentioned it. Hadn't mentioned Jess.

Though he did keep checking his phone for missed calls. Dean wished he could give Sam what he wanted for Christmas. But Dean wasn't John Winchester.

Christmas evening was spent around the fire that Bobby had built in the study, sipping beer and staring at the crackling flames. Dean had spilled everything to the other hunter only an hour earlier, and now all three were sitting in silence, Bobby clearly trying to digest all the information that had been unceremoniously dumped in his lap.

There was no exchanging of presents. It wasn't like any of the boys had had time to shop anyway. No tree…the one year they had tried that at Bobby's, they'd managed to catch that on fire too. Turns out that lighting tinsel on fire was rather like sticking a fork in the microwave. Which meant no tree, and apparently, no more turkey in the future.

It wasn't a half bad Christmas for them. They'd certainly had worse. Where one or both of them were in the hospital. Or, Dean's personal favorite, being chased by a Jewish werewolf.

"So…you got bit by the gnome?" Bobby asked finally, a grin pulling at his mouth.

"Sammy got shish-kabobbed by it," snapped Dean defensively.

"Yeah…but you could have like a gnome STD or something," Sammy had to pipe in.

Dean bit down hard on his tongue and tried to keep his eyebrow from twitching.

Bobby cleared his throat, trying not to look guilty. "Nah…I called Caleb after you guys told me you were going after a garden gnome…"

"You didn't…" Dean's glare was accusatory.

"You wouldn't…" Sam's was more panicked than anything else. "Dad's gonna find out," he groaned.

"You're not the one that got bit, Sam!"

"Yeah, but at least I healed your ankle. My arm is still in a sling." He moaned, leaning forward and dropping his head in his good hand.

"Stop being overdramatic."

Sam grimaced and pinched his nose, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

"Sam…" Dean leaned closer towards his brother and then jumped out of his seat, managing to catch Sam around the shoulders as he pitched forward. He didn't even notice his wings ripping from his back, didn't see the way they wrapped protectively around the two of them. "Sam…Sam…shit, Sam…"

Sam's hand reached out, latching hard onto Dean's wrist as he crumbled forward, head pressed into his older brother's chest.

He tried to concentrate on the smell of leather, gunpowder, and Jack Daniels, but he couldn't stop the picture flitting at the corner of his eyes and pulling him under.

_It was dark. And cold. They were outside, snow coating the brick house and the playground equipment in the backyard. A for-sale sign banged against the posts supporting it in the wind and Sam caught a quick glance of the agent's name before the wind grew and ripped it right off the hinges. _

_The sign blew down the street and Sam's gaze followed it, landing on a large, black truck parked down the block. The Kansas plate was visible in the pale streetlight. Snow covered the cabin and the bed, reaching up around the tires. It appeared that the snow plows had been by at least several times, the tires were buried underneath a growing bank of slush. _

"_Dad…" _

Dean pulled Sam closer, wrapping one arm around his back, the other tangling in his hair. "Just relax, kiddo…don't fight it, it'll make it worse…"

"Dad…" Sam whispered and Dean's heart skipped a beat.

_He looked desperately for footprints, anything to point to where John Winchester might be. The scene shuttered, and then changed, and he was inside the house, looking down at the playground from the bedroom window. _

"_Allison…you don't want to do this…" _

"_Dad!" Sam spun on his heel, following his father's voice into the adjoining room. "Dad!" _

_John Winchester was pinned against the wall, a young woman about Sam's age stood in front of him, a maelstrom of objects circling her. Without warning, the items picked up speed and Sam gasped as a book passed right through him without stopping. _

"_You have no idea how much I want to do this…" _

_Sam ran to the wall, reaching out hands to pry his father loose, desperately looking for a way to help the man. His fingers slipped right through and he screamed his frustration. "DAD!" _

_Turning, he faced the red-head and her cyclone, but his breath caught in his throat at the sight of yellow-rimmed eyes…_

Sam's eyes snapped open and he gasped, drawing in a deep breath desperately trying to create a coherent thought around the pain closing in on his head.

"Easy, Sammy," Dean said gently.

"Dad…" he whispered, the vise squeezing harder as tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. His hand grasped spasmodically at the hem of Dean's sleeve, clumsy fingers looking for purchase.

"What about Dad, kiddo?"

Dean felt Bobby hovering behind him. "Dean…"

"My bag…there's a prescription that I…it says John Smith…just grab two of the tablets and a glass of water." Bobby disappeared and Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, Sam, let's get you up."

"No…Dean…gotta go…"

"Really…you didn't have that much to drink…"

"Dad's in trouble…" Sam managed to grind out.

"Dad's a big boy, Sammy," Dean grumbled, pulling Sam up in one smooth motion and then nearly falling under his dead weight. "Woah there, Nelly," Dean staggered drunkenly to the right and left before finally managing to stand still.

Sam's face had rapidly paled and Dean nearly dropped Sam, knowing exactly what was coming. As it was, he still didn't manage to get out of the way fast enough, Moo Shoo Pork making a reappearance on his shoes. "Sorry," he murmured, swaying again.

Bobby reappeared, taking in the mess on the carpet, and then sighed. "I never really did like that rug anyway."

Dean plopped Sam on the couch, pushing him down. "No…Dean…"

"I promise, Sam, we will go find Dad after you've gotten some sleep. You can't even stand up straight, Sammy."

"Can too…" Sam pushed himself up on his one shaking arm, other still stuck in a sling, only to fall backwards.

"You sure showed me, Superman," Dean muttered, taking the stolen pills from Bobby. "Take these."

Sam looked at them skeptically.

"They're for migraines, Sam. I don't know if it'll work, but…" Dean shrugged and Sam sighed, reaching out and popping them in his mouth, dry swallowing. His eyes were already closing and Dean draped the afghan on the back of the couch across him, hand brushing over his forehead reassuringly.

As Dean moved away, Sam's hand shot out, and Dean turned, looking questioningly at the fingers attached to his jacket.

"Only a coupla hours, Dean…" Sam slurred. "Then we gotta go…"

"Sure thing," Dean smiled, patting Sam's hand. Behind his back, Dean's fingers were crossed.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think (I'm always open to feedback!) Much love. **


	4. Cruel to Be Kind

**A/N: *Whistles* I'm sorry that this is so late guys. The past two weeks I've had over twenty hours of homework (per week), toss in commute time to and from school (an hour and a half both ways) and work (lets not go there) and here we are. Shorter than I like so…I'm sorry. The chapter title is a song by Nick Lowe. Much love, and enjoy! **

**Highway to Hell**

**Chapter Four: Cruel to Be Kind**

Two hours turned into twenty-four. Twenty-four threatened to turn into forty-eight. The migraine pills did nothing and Sam was left incoherent on the couch, Dean at his wit's end on how to help.

_Come on, kiddo. You gotta eat something._

_Just gonna barf it back up, Dean…gotta help Dad. Go help Dad._

Dean sighed and tried to remain patient, but Sam was tap-dancing on his last nerve with all this, 'don't worry about me and save everyone else' crap. Granted, Dad wasn't just anyone else…but, still.

"John hasn't called you back yet, has he?" Bobby asked softly from where he stood in the doorway, staring into the pitch-black living room. The two of them had blocked all the windows with heavy blankets, and even covered the windows in the next room, to keep the light from coming in and doing anything more to Sam's overly sensitive eyes.

Dean shook his head. "Could be because he's in trouble," he said softly. "Could just be because…"

"He's an ass?" Bobby smirked.

Dean's own lips threatened to quirk into a smile, but he quickly turned the movement into a frown. "Sammy?"

Sam moaned from his position on the couch. _M'okay…just feel like I'm on a freakin' boat…_

Dean ran a hand over his face, letting his exhaustion bleed through for a second before the carefully constructed mask fell back into place. Bobby jerked his head and disappeared, and Dean sighed before following, knowing an order when he saw one. The second they were both safely ensconced in the kitchen, Bobby rounded on him.

"You're gonna collapse if you try to keep this up, boy. Your brother ain't the only one that needs to eat around here."

Dean didn't respond, instead just releasing his wings and letting them stretch, flexing them out and then folding them close, rolling his neck and shoulders to try to release tension.

"Dean."

"What am I supposed to do, Bobby? Every time he uses these damn powers he gets worse. You'd think that his body would adjust…"

"Dean."

"I mean, for all I know he could try to heal a paper cut next week and end up in a coma!"

"Dean."

"Or, have a seizure, or…"

"Dean!" Bobby snapped.

Dean immediately realized two things. He hadn't taken a breath since he'd started raving and he was hovering nervously nearly six inches above the tiled floor. "Sorry," he muttered, dropping back to the ground.

"Did Sam pass out after he healed your thumb?"

"No. He got a headache. And he was cold. But he was soaked at the time…"

"Did he pass out after he healed your ankle?"

"No…"

"Has he passed out after a vision before?"

Dean thought back to when he'd left John and Sam alone in the motel room. "Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay, Bobby? He wasn't like this afterwards!"

"Were his angelic powers, or whatever you boys are calling them, on-line at the time?"

"No." He collapsed into one of the rickety chairs at the kitchen table. "So you think it'll be like this with every vision?"

"No," Bobby shook his head and took a chair across from Dean, carefully weaving around the wings that the younger hunter kept adjusting every few seconds. "From what we could gather, this vision was rather intense, wasn't it? It wasn't just a split second. He saw nearly ten minutes worth of…whatever it was…"

Dean nodded, dropping his head in his hands. "I just hate feeling useless."

"I know, kiddo," Bobby said comfortingly. "Beer?"

*~~*

John ignored his phone as it vibrated across the passenger seat.

He had no doubt that it was Dean…again.

The kid had been trying to get a hold of him ever since he'd left the two boys in that motel room. The messages had ranged from mild upset, to casual questioning, to downright pissed off. So John had stopped checking them. Dean might not understand it now, but John was doing what was best for him. What was best for all of them.

Which was why he was parked on a deserted street in this town, watching the snow swirl around him and looking for any more signs of demonic activity. He'd found that there had been a house fire here, nearly twenty-three years ago. The only survivor was a baby girl. She'd been adopted, fostered by a kindly older couple. Who'd gone missing about a week ago.

It had taken some mind-numbing research, but John finally realized that there could be a lot of kids out there like Sammy. Kids who didn't have John and Dean to look after them. Who didn't have angel blood to, if not negate the demon blood, fight it. Kids like this Allison.

According to medical records, Allison had started complaining of severe headaches not long after she turned twenty-two.

She'd disappeared almost three months ago.

The phone vibrated again. John waited for it to stop and then flipped it open. He had twenty messages…and a hundred missed calls?

John went to delete all the messages when the screen lit up in his hand. _Bobby Singer._

Sighing, but knowing he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't pick up the phone, John pushed the little green button. "Winchester," he grunted, eyes scanning the dark. It was hard to see through the whorls and eddies of snow that the wind was kicking up.

"Dad."

The voice was strained and hoarse. He'd heard his sons in pain enough to recognize the fact that someone was injured. Maybe he should have picked up the phone. Or at least checked his messages. "Sammy?"

"Dad…don't…"

He could hear the ragged breathing, harsh and echoing through the tinny connection. "Sam, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Is your brother okay?"

"Allison…"

John's brain tried to figure out why his son would know anything about Allison. "Sammy, how do you know about…"

Dean's voice filtered through on the other end, a 'Hey, Sammy,' followed by a, 'what the…' a few choice words, and the sound of objects probably crashing to the floor as Dean moved them out of his way. "Dad," Sam said, though it clearly wasn't directed at his father.

Dean sounded much closer as a "Sit down before you fall down," echoed in John's ear. Then, "Dad?"

"Dean."

"Shit, Dad, try to answer the phone once and awhile, why don't ya?"

John wasn't in the mood to be reprimanded by his oldest. He needed to know why Sam knew about Allison. "Dean, how does your brother know about Allison?"

The only sound was that of Dean's quiet breathing. Finally, he cleared his throat. "You ah…you remember…that fit…that Sam had…when you were in the motel room with him?"

Like John could forget the sight of his son passed out and bleeding from his nose on the bathroom floor. "Yeah."

"Apparently…the demon blood…it's giving him visions…"

John sat in shocked silence, not caring about what was lurking outside in the dark surrounding his truck anymore. "What do you mean, visions?"

"Like of us…when we're in trouble. And he's always right, Dad."

"And you didn't think to tell me this? Something like this happens to Sam, Dean, and you should call."

"I did call, Dad. I've been calling!" Dean snapped. "I'm not the one that dumped his kids in some god-forsaken motel room and ran off…" What sounded suspiciously like a sob reached John's ears. Before he could say anything else, another voice took Dean's place.

"Go look after your brother, son." John flinched. He should just hang up now and pretend that none of this had ever happened. He should have realized by the caller id just who his sons were with. "John."

The voice was colder than the snow outside. "Bobby."

"Whatever you're doing, John. Don't."

John's ire rose. "You don't even know…"

"I know you well enough, John Winchester. I know you well enough to know that you ran off for what you think is your sons' own good to hunt down that stupid demon, when your boys really need you on the home front, not behind enemy lines. I know you haven't picked up the phone since you left them. I know that you had no idea, because your head is up your ass as usual, that Sam was having visions, that he can heal people, but it hurts him when he does it. Bet you didn't know that Dean can make things float around all over the place. That the angels contacted them to have them hunt down people with demon blood."

"How I raise my children is none of your damn business, Singer." The last time he'd said those words, he'd been threatened with buckshot.

"They aren't children anymore, John. They're grown men, with grown men problems. I'm not asking you to hold their hand, John. I'm asking you to pick up the phone."

"If I picked up the phone every time that one of them called, I'd never be off it."

"Did you ever think that they wouldn't call so often if they knew that you'd pick up?"

John leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. "What do you want me to do, Bobby?" He caved. Never let it be said that John Winchester wasn't a sucker.

"Wait for the boys to show up. Sam had some vision about you and Allison. It apparently doesn't end well."

"If I don't take her down tonight, Bobby, then I may lose her again."

"John…"

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I can't." _Not if it'll keep the boys safe._ He shut the phone, expecting it to buzz a few seconds later. It didn't.

*~~*

Bobby slipped quietly into the living room. Sam and Dean were both on the couch, television droning softly, a bluish glow bathing their pale faces. Sam's feet were wedged under Dean's thigh, and Dean's hand rested on Sam's calf, but neither of them looked at Bobby or acknowledged one another.

Sam's headache had improved exponentially in the past couple of hours, but he was far from full form, plus he was still one arm short. "He's still going, isn't he?" Sam asked quietly, eyes never straying from the television.

Bobby saw Dean's hand tighten spasmodically on Sam's leg before loosening again. Sighing, he pulled off his ball cap and ran his hand through his hair. His hand dropped and he twisted the cap around, clearing his throat. "Your daddy thinks he's doing what's best for you boys."

"He usually does," grunted Dean. Red-rimmed eyes gave away his exhaustion, but any evidence of the tears that Bobby had seen when he'd found Dean on the phone were gone, probably hidden before he'd even made it back to Sam.

"We gotta do something," Sam muttered, attempting to haul himself up one-handed, but rather stuck under Dean.

"Like what, Sam?" Dean didn't mean to snap, but he couldn't help it.

"I don't know…but he's going to…she'll kill him, Dean."

Dean shrugged, still staring vacantly at an infomercial.

"Castiel…" Sam whispered.

"What?" Dean did mean to snap this time, and his head whipped around so fast that Bobby was surprised that it didn't fly off.

"Michael said to call him if I found any people like me. He must have meant the visions. He can help Dad."

"If Dad doesn't shoot him first."

"Hopefully angels are bulletproof."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Sammy. Dad isn't gonna want any meddling…"

"Dean, we did promise."

Dean turned to Bobby this time, imploring him for help, but Bobby just tilted his head. And then Sam turned the puppy dog eyes on him. Bobby sighed, scratched at his forehead, and grunted. "This place ain't really suitable for company, but…"

"Thanks, Bobby," said Sam. "Castiel!"

"Jeez, Sam, not so loud," Dean muttered, sinking back into the couch and lifting his hand from Sam's leg to rub at his eyes.

"Yes?"

Bobby jumped and spun, eyes widening at the sight of the young man in a khaki coat standing in the middle of his living room.

"Cass, Bobby Singer," mumbled Dean, cracking open one eye. "Bobby, this is Castiel."

"I am an angel of the Lord."

"Uh-huh…" Bobby slowly backed away, coming to stand behind the couch, putting Dean and Sam in the line of fire.

"Chicken," Dean muttered, grin splitting his face and making him look sixteen again.

"Shuddup."

Castiel redirected his stare to Sam. "You called?" His eyes narrowed. "What happened to your arm?"

"Garden gnome," Dean's grin widened further as Sammy blushed to his roots at the angel's scrutiny.

"I am not familiar with this garden gnome…"

"Have you seen the little ugly guys that humans put in their lawns?"

"Yes."

"That's a garden gnome."

"Did you trip over one, Samuel Winchester?"

"Dean," Sam muttered, trying to look anywhere but at the angel.

"Something like that, mphfm." Sam's foot connected hard with Dean's side. "Cut your toenails, Sam."

Castiel looked from one to the other, confused. "Is there a reason you called me, Samuel? Perhaps to help with this garden gnome?"

"No, no," Sam said quickly, grimacing as he sat up straighter, causing the pain throbbing through his temples to spike. "I had a vision."

The angel's eyebrow quirked. "And what did you see in this vision?"

Sam debated about what to tell the angel. He didn't want to get his father into any sort of trouble. "A girl…her eyes were yellow. I think she's…"

"One of the demon children? Was she…"

Sam swallowed, hard. "Definitely bad." He cleared his throat. "She has telekinesis, I think." His head pulsed again and he swallowed down a wave of nausea. He didn't want to barf in front of an angel.

Dean recognized his brother's struggle, and interrupted. "We think she's here," he said, reaching for a map on the coffee table in front of him. He pointed to a small town in Montana. "Actually, we know what house she's in too. Managed to narrow it down by the real estate agent on the for sale sign. Her name's Allison. She should be at 212 Snowberry Lane."

"When did you have this vision?" Castiel asked, peering at the map.

"Couple of days ago," Sam said quietly.

"Then how do you know that it has not already happened?"

"I just do."

Castiel nodded slowly. "I shall have to talk to Michael," he said quietly. And then he was gone.

"Where'd he go?" Dean peered around the room.

"That's an angel?"

Sam leaned back, ignoring both Bobby and his brother. Castiel hadn't promised that anyone was going to find Allison. For all he knew his dad was pinned to a wall right now. He had wings, and he couldn't even fly there, not in his condition, and not with the snow storm raging outside. And what would he do with one arm out of commissions? Stand there and heal people? At least Dean could throw stuff back. He'd charge right in there with his fiery sword and decapitate anyone who got in his way.

All in all, Sam felt rather useless.

*~~*

John's sneak attack was going well.

As well as it could in a foot of snow. He hadn't fallen yet, so that was a plus. At least, he thought it was a plus. Compared to his soaked jeans and damp boots…

Very slowly, he peered around the corner of the house. All Quiet on the Western Front.

The snow crunched under his feet as he made his way to the back. He got caught twice in a drift, nearly face planting, and resigned himself to being wet and miserable. Adjusting stiff fingers on his shotgun, John reached for the handle on the back door and nearly had a heart attack. Bright white light poured from every window and through the cracks in the walls. "Holy shit!"

Dropping down into a drift, John covered his head with his arms, fully expecting the house to explode into a million pieces any second now. This was it--he was going to die buried under a freakin' house in the snow…hypothermia was going to set in, he was going to freeze slowly, become a hunter-sicle…

Eventually, he realized that the house hadn't come down around his ears.

It registered that perhaps Sam had been right about this hunt.

That thought was quickly chased away by the fact that his boys must have done something if he was still alive and shivering in a snow bank next to an empty house.

Just to be sure, he pushed open the door, scanning the dark room. The kitchen was empty, cupboards open and bare, a few of the cabinet doors hanging at odd angles. Burn marks littered the walls. He slipped from the room, wincing as the wooden floor creaked and gave away his position.

The rest of the first floor was just as empty, the only furnishings left were the chicken curtains hung through nearly every room of the house. Carefully, John picked his way towards the staircase, directing the beam of his high powered flashlight up the stairs.

Every step noisily protested his weight, and John was glad to reach the top, a little afraid that they might decide to collapse any second. The second floor was the exact opposite of the one that John had just seen. There was garbage everywhere. Books, furniture, and other random items littered the floor. If he didn't know any better, John would say that a tornado had come through.

A quick check revealed all the rooms to be empty and John couldn't help the niggling thought in the back of his mind from growing.

His boys had done something.

And he wasn't going to like it.

One hand fished into his pocket as he stormed down the stairs and out the door, braving the large drifts back to his truck. Pressing the speed-dial, John raised the cold phone to his ear, holding it close to block out the noise of the wind.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Dean's voice was higher than usual. It was a sure sign that he was worried.

"What did you boys do?"

Silence. That confirmed it.

"Dean." Still nothing. "Dean, what the hell did you boys do?!"

He threw the gun in the bed of the truck and hopped in, too cold to put the gun back in its proper place right now.

"Dean. Answer me. What did you two do?"

"It…it's a long story, Dad."

"How long, Dean?" he sighed, blood pressure lowering when he heard the hesitancy in Dean's voice. He didn't want to scare his son, but he needed to make sure both of them were okay. Reaching blindly, John turned the heat up full blast and put the truck in drive, slip-sliding down the empty road.

"Pretty long…see, we got a flat…"

"A flat?"

"Yeah, on the Impala…" Dean cleared his throat. "And this whole town was, like, anit-gay, and they thought Sam and I were together. Oh, and I impersonated an angel and then…"

"Dean…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Just stay put, I'll be there tomorrow evening, day after tomorrow at the latest." "Yes, sir." Dean's relief was almost tangible and John swallowed hard as he hung up. His sons needed him now.

**A/N: Well, let me know what you guys think! Thanks for stopping by. Oh, and flames will be used to thaw out John. ;) **


	5. Dancing With Tears in My Eyes

**A/N: Okay guys, this is probably. going to be it for awhile. I've got a bunch of stuff to work on and I'm going to be at West Point for a conference in a couple of weeks, so I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update. (Hopefully I'll be eating my own words next week). ;) **

**Anywho, this chapter's title comes from Ultravox. Have fun and enjoy!**

**Highway to Heaven**

**Chapter Five: Dancing With Tears in My Eyes**

Dean was worried. Even though Sam was pretty much better…he seemed pretty much worse. He was moping around Bobby's house, big black wings drooping all over the place or wrapping around him in varying intervals. He'd sit and sigh, then stand and sigh, and pace and sigh, and then sit and sigh. Bobby, the smart man that he was, had up and disappeared from the house, and Dean was debating about doing the same thing.

Until Sam nearly flung himself onto the couch…and sighed.

"Sam," Dean growled.

Sam glanced up before quickly looking away. "Sorry."

"Sorry?"

Sam nodded tightly, eyes still averted.

"Sam."

A sigh. A goddamned sigh.

"Sammy…" he warned.

At least this time it was a shrug…and then a sigh.

"Samuel."

Sam flinched. Dean never called him by his full name. Sam sighed.

"Will you stop exhaling like that?!" Dean snapped and Sam glanced up, eyes wide. "You take too deep of a breath and you're gonna get lightheaded and pass out on me!"

"Sorry."

And they were back to the apologies.

"What for, Sam?"

"For dragging you into the fight with Dad."

"What fight with Dad?"

"The one we're gonna have…he's gonna be real pissed at me, Dean." Sam sighed.

"I'm gonna be real pissed at you if you don't stop sighing," he muttered. "He won't be pissed at you, Sam…he'll just be pissed in general."

"That's reassuring." Sam stood, wings flexing before wrapping protectively around him again. "The last thing he'll want anything to do with is the angels…and when he finds out about the visions…"

"I already told him."

"You what?"

"I already told him, Sam. And it's his own fault, he never picked up the phone."

"If I was a better…mmph!" Sam pulled the ruined sweatshirt from his face, glaring at his grinning brother. "What the hell was that for?"

"Put it on, Sam."

"Why?" "Just put it on."

Sam muttered mutinously, but pulled the sweatshirt over his head, slipping his wings through the holes they had previously torn through the back of the material. "Happy?"

"Sure," Dean said, reaching for a jacket that he'd purposely cut slits in. "Come on."

He took the stairs two at a time, and Sam followed, confused. "What are you doing, Dean?"

Dean disappeared into one of the bedrooms, and Sam followed, hearing the window scrape open before he saw Dean crawling out and onto the roof. "Dean, you'll slip and break your neck!"

"Come on, Sammy, let's go!"

Dean reached up and heaved, leaving dangling boots in front of the window as he pulled himself up to the top of the house.

"Dean!" Sam scrambled out after him, watching as he disappeared over the ledge before turning and peering over the edge at his younger brother.

"Let's go, slow poke!" Dean reached down a hand, and Sam grimaced.

"Fine," he mumbled, accepting Dean's hand and pulling himself up to lay by his brother on the snow covered roof. A few flakes drifted lazily from the grey sky, and Sam watched as one landed on his nose, immediately melting. He was like that snowflake. Insignificant. Just one of many and gone before anyone even noticed.

Dean stood suddenly, slip sliding to the other side of the roof to stare out at the woods surrounding the junkyard. "Dean, if you fall off, I'll kill you."

Dean turned, grinning. "C'mere," he gestured with his hand, as if to accentuate the importance of hurrying across the roof.

Sam nearly sighed, remembered what Dean had said, and held his tongue. "I'm coming." He picked his way across the frozen slats much slower than his brother, fearing what would happen if he slipped and fell.

Dean turned to look out again, spreading his arms wide and throwing his head back. "Dean…" Sam said worriedly, picking up his pace.

"I hate flying," Dean said suddenly.

_Dean, don't jump!_

Dean started laughing, a deep belly laugh that threatened to bring him to his knees and left him gasping for air.

_I was more worried about you, kiddo._

"You thought I was going to kill myself and you brought me on the roof!? You want me to jump off? You jerk!"

"No, no, no, Sam…" Dean tried desperately to stop laughing, but he couldn't help it.

"I'm going in," Sam huffed, turning around.

_No, wait._

Sam stopped moving, but didn't turn back around.

"What I was saying, Sam…is I hate flying…but I've never minded it so much when I'm flying with you." _Come here, Sam._

Sam turned, staring at Dean's outstretched hand.

Carefully, he took one step, and then another, before his cold fingers clasped around the callused ones that had held his since he was born. "You've got to trust me, Sammy," Dean said quietly. "Everything is going to be okay. With Dad, with the angels, with the demon…" And even though Dean had his own doubts, he remembered what the angels had said, about keeping his faith in Sam. "Because I'm flying with you."

He tugged sharply and they both fell from the roof. The wind howled in their ears and adrenaline pumped through their veins. Wings snapped suddenly, slowing their descent, and then stopping it, leaving them hovering yards above the frozen ground.

Sam looked at his hand, still firmly grasped in Dean's.

Dean believed in him.

Dean trusted him to keep them from falling.

And he had to trust Dean.

Slowly, he loosened his grasp on his brother's hand. "Hey Dean, you remember that lake we used to go fishing in as kids?"

"Yeah…I taught to swim in that thing."

"I'll beat you there."

"Hey, no fair!" Dean shouted, watching as his brother soared through the snow filled clouds, heading straight for the woods. "FIRST IS THE WORST!!!"

*~~*

"Where have you two idjits been!?"

Neither boy said anything, just shivering as they dripped on the hardwood floor.

"Sam?"

Sam opened his mouth to explain, but all that came out was, "C…c…cold…"

"Dean?"

Dean shrugged as a violent spasm wracked his body. "Uh-huh. Your Daddy called, he's about an hour out. Why don't you two go get a shower and changed before he gets here. Ya bunch of snow angels."

Dean glared and Sam's lips quirked. Dean particularly looked like a snow angel, large clumps of the white stuff dripping from his head and down his neck. Sam had most definitely won the snowball fight.

_Laugh it up. You look like you got frozen solid after being dipped in a lake…oh yeah, you did._

It was Sam's turn to glare as Dean smiled.

_Beat you to the shower!_

Sam took off up the stairs as Dean protested behind him.

_Not fair, Sasquatch, you have a longer stride!_

Sam slammed the bathroom door in Dean's face and turned the water on full blast, jumping under the spray before realizing he'd forgotten something rather important. _Dean?_

_What?_ Dean's voice was snappish, even in his head. Clearly he wasn't happy about not getting the first shower. _You better not be using all the hot water._

_I promise I'll save you some…_

_Why do I sense an 'if', Sam?_

_I…uh…forgottograbmyclothes._

He could literally feel the laughter bubbling up inside of Dean before he heard it. It was followed by the creak of the stairs and the door opening. A bundle hit the floor and the door closed again, the footsteps disappearing. _There you go, Sammy._

Thankful, Sam turned off the water and stepped out, reaching for a towel before snatching up the… "DEAN!"

Where the hell his brother had gotten a flowing white robe from, he had no idea. There were even slits where his wings would go. _I thought we could practice for Halloween, Sammy._

Growling, Sam wrapped the towel around his waist and stalked down the steps, robe in one hand, the other keeping a secure hold on his only form of modesty. "My turn," Dean said, pushing past him and bounding up the stairs, his own bundle of clothes in hand.

Muttering, Sam made his way into the living room corner where his duffle…was noticeably absent. "Bobby? Did you move my duffle?"

"No!" Bobby called, his voice echoing from the kitchen. "I did hear your brother snickering in there not too long ago, though."

_Dean!_

There was no answer.

_Dean!_

Dropping the robe over the back of the couch, Sam started tearing the room apart looking for his missing duffle.

Tires crunched over the snow outside.

_Shit! Dad's here, Dean!_

_Well you can't greet Dad with nothing but a towel on, now can you, Sammy? _

Cussing his brother out, Sam dove for the couch, hearing the front door creak open and muffled voices.

"Dean's in the shower, John, and Sam's in…"

Sam stood tall in a flowing robe, all 6' 4" of him covered in white, his black wings a sharp contrast against the fabric.

"Good God, boy, why are you wearing a dress?"

Sam glanced down at the floor before meeting his father's eyes and mumbling, "Dean."

"I'm sorry, Sam, I don't seem to have caught that…"

Sam flushed, ears turning bright red as he ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. "Dean, sir," he whispered.

"I still didn't hear you…"

John's oldest son clattered down the steps and slid to a halt beside him. The raucous laughter was all he needed to tell him the reason as to why his youngest was dressed like a giant fairy. Sam just blushed harder, his face turning a concerning shade of maroon that suggested his head may just explode at any moment.

"Dean," John's long suffering sigh made the older boy flinch, "Give your brother his duffel back."

"Yes, sir." Dean made no move to go get it.

"Now, Dean."

Dean grinned and ran out the front door towards the Impala.

"Kids," John muttered, dropping his duffel in the corner and settling in on the couch. "Go get changed, Sam, and then let's go grab something to eat. You boys can explain what's going on over dinner."

"Yessir," Sam said quickly, dashing for the door. He was just glad to be spared any further mortification.

John turned to Bobby who held his hands up helplessly. "Don't look at me, they aren't my kids."

*~~*

John insisted on being given the keys to the Impala. He also insisted that both boys, "Put those damn things away before people think you're Trick-or-Treating in the middle of winter!"

"Trick-or-Treating as what, exactly?" Dean had huffed, but retracted them anyway, grimacing at the tight feeling that their absence left across his back.

Sam hadn't said anything, just blushed again and did as he was told. He was noticeably silent. At least noticeably to Dean and Bobby. John was used to getting the silent treatment from his youngest son. He just didn't seem to get that it wasn't directed at him, but it was a direct result of him.

If anything, Dean would have been expecting a screaming match about dumping them in a hotel room with neither of them up for much more than hobbling to the bathroom and back. But Sam seemed more afraid that their father was going to declare him to be the scum of the earth and once again tell him to leave and never come back…because hadn't he just a few short years ago? And so, instead, Sam was left barely making a sound, desperately trying not to give his father any reason to be more disappointed than he already was.

Bobby claimed shotgun, so both boys were left in the back bench, Sam pressed into the corner right behind John, eyes closed and forehead leaning lightly against the frosted pane.

_You okay, kiddo?_

_Yeah, Dean._

_Look, I'm sorry about…_

_Don't be._ Sam's lips quirked and he turned to catch Dean's gaze. _Just be prepared for revenge._

John peered in the rearview mirror, not liking the dark circles under Dean's eyes and the pallor to Sam's skin. They both hadn't been in great shape after Jessica's death, but now they looked even worse. Maybe he shouldn't have left. "You boys okay back there?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused. It was a time-worn response.

The pizza joint was nearly empty, a few stray teens were all that were left in a dingy corner. John led them to an empty table with full view of the room and gestured the boys into one side of the booth. He and Bobby took the other.

"Hi, I'm Cindy and I'll be your server. Can I start you all off with some drinks?"

"Four beers," John ordered. "Whatever's on tap tonight." He glanced at Dean's hopeful face. "And two orders of breadsticks."

_Yes!_

_Bottomless pit._

Dean shoved Sam playfully and Sam glared. "Boys."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Let 'im go, Johnny."

Sam fell silent again, fearing his impending doom. John sighed. Now Dean knew where Sammy got all that sighing from.

"So, you boys want to explain to me why the house I was at last night had a giant ball of light explode from it…and when I went inside there was nobody and nothing there?"

Sam's Adams Apple bobbed convulsively. John honed in on it. "Sam?"

"Well…uh…" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry, Sam?" John's voice came out harsher than intended, but he was confused.

"I know I shouldn't have gotten the angels involved…I just…I…" His chest felt tight and he could feel the panic rising, attempting to swallow him whole.

_Hey, hey, Sammy!_ Dean reached out, grabbing Sam's arm and squeezing tight.

"Angels? What on earth are you talking about?" John snapped, "Sam."

His head hurt suddenly, a dull aching throb and then sharp pain. His eyes hurt, his nose hurt, his ears…

"Shit," Dean hissed, grasping Sam around the shoulders and pushing him back in the booth. "Not now, Sam."

"Oh my God, is he okay? He's bleeding!" The waitress had really bad timing.

"Dean? What's going on?"

"Move ya idjit," Bobby snapped, forcing John to let him out of the booth. "Gotta go find the painkillers," he muttered, heading out to the Impala.

"Dean."

"Not now, Dad," Dean watched, helpless to stop it as his brother's eyes rolled up in his head and his body went slack, blood steadily dripping from his nose.

_Sam…Sam…c'mon, Sammy…_

_Dean…_

And suddenly Dean was there.

_"Sam…where are we?"_

_"I don't know."_

_The room was dark. The sound of soft sobs reached Dean's ears._

_"You hear that, Sammy?"_

_The scene moved forward, fast enough that Dean thought he might vomit, and they were focused in on a dark corner. A young woman sat there, arms wrapped around her knees and head cradled in her legs as she cried. A cat lay next to her, unnaturally still, even in the dim light. _

_"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to…"_

_She raised her head and glanced at her hands, then rubbed them hard against her jeans. _

_"All I did was pet him," she whispered. "I just touched him…" _

_Beside her, the cat didn't move._

"Dean! Dean! Can you hear me?"

"I could until you blew my eardrums out a minute ago with all that screaming…what happened?"

The bench heaved beneath him and groaned.

"Oh, sorry…" Dean scrambled up, pushing off his brother. "Sammy?"

"Head hurts," he muttered, squinting.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine, Dad. Come on my Jolly Green Giant, let's get you outta here." Dean reached out and hefted Sam up, blocking out the moan that accompanied the movement.

Bobby suddenly appeared, pill bottle in hand.

"Should I call an ambulance?" the waitress offered.

"No," Bobby smiled, "Just forgot to take his meds is all…Dean?"

Dean wavered as he attempted to stand, dragging Sam with him.

"M'okay, Bobby. He just took me along for the ride is all."

"And you're okay?"

"Apparently. I think I just piggybacked--help me get him to the car."

"Go grab the door, John."

Helpless and unsure of what was going on, John figured that for once it was best that he just do as he was told.

It was nearly an hour before they had Sam settled in on the couch, headache already dissipating as he drifted off to sleep. Dean had given him the painkillers, despite his protests about them not working, and promised that they'd discuss everything after Sam was feeling up to it.

Just as Dean was leaving to join the older hunters in the kitchen Sam's hand reached out and snagged his wrist. "Dean," he whispered, "is Dad mad at me?"

Dean glanced up, watching the stunned look flit across his father's face from where he stood in the doorway.

"No, kiddo, Dad's not mad at you."

"I know he hates me…but I don't want him to be mad at me…"

"He doesn't hate you, Sammy." His voice was soft but the look he pinned John with was hard. "Dad loves you, kiddo. Now get some sleep, and we'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam said tiredly. "Tell Dad I'm sorry."

"I think he already knows, Sammy."

John was already gone from the doorway when Dean glanced up again, and he wasn't in the kitchen either. "Where did he go, Bobby?"

"To fix up the spare bedroom, I think. Sandwich?"

"Sure."

"You gonna call those angels?"

Dean shrugged. "Sammy seems to think we owe them. I told him we'd talk about it in the morning…you hear that?"

Bobby paused, and then moved towards the window. "I don't see anything…"

A knock sounded at the door.

Dean moved into the living room, past his unconscious brother, and to the corner where he'd left their swords. Grasping his by the hilt, he was surprised to see it leap to life in his hand. Bobby appeared, shot gun cocked and ready.

"Turn that thing off before you burn the whole house down."

"It only burns when we're in danger, Bobby."

"Dean?" John appeared at the base of the steps, gun in hand.

The knock sounded again. Sam murmured and turned in his sleep, pressing his face into the back of the couch.

"I'll stay here," John said softly, staring at his sleeping son. He positioned himself in the doorway where he'd have a clear shot at anything coming at them.

"After you, Bobby," Dean offered, grinning as they crept towards the door.

"Can't you at least turn it down a little? It looks like a freakin' light house in the middle of the ocean. You're bound to give away your position."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, but it cuts through garden gnomes."

Bobby peered out the peep hole. "It's a girl."

"A girl?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well open it." Dean moved so he was out of sight, that way he could get the drop on whoever this girl was if he needed too.

Slowly, Bobby swung the door open. A young blonde woman stood on the doormat.

"Hey, my name's Ruby, and I'm here to see Sam."

**A/N: I know. I'm an evil cliffy person. All flames will be used to roast Ruby, and more importantly, held under Dean's ass in this current season to get him to go help Sam! Much love. :)  
**


	6. Careless Whisper

A/N: I get the pig flu and you get another chapter. ;) Doesn't that just figure? Chapter title taken from a song by Wham!…or George Michael. Whichever came first. Sorry it's so short.

**Highway to Hell**

**Chapter Six: Careless Whisper**

Bobby and Dean exchanged quick glances, and Bobby cleared his throat. "Sam who?"

"Winchester, you moron," the blonde girl, Ruby, snapped.

"Last I heard, he was still away at school. Stanford, I think," Bobby offered, running a hand over the rim of his ball cap. "I'm not right sure, though. Me and his daddy don't talk much anymore."

"Look, I know for a fact that the idiot with the glowing stick there is Dean. And wherever Sam is, he isn't far behind."

Dean's brow wrinkled. "I haven't talked to Sam in years, lady. He walked out and hasn't looked back since."

_Dean…why's Dad standing over me with a gun?_

_Not now, kiddo. Just stay put._

"Not that I could blame him for leaving you bunch of monkeys, but I know for a fact that you stopped by at least once a month to check on your baby brother. You haven't taken a hunt on the east coast since he left. It's a little cold outside, and I'd appreciate it if you invited me in."

Unsure of what exactly was going on, both boys stepped back from the door and Ruby stepped forward…and bounced back.

Glancing up at the devil's trap over the door, she swore. "Now, that's not very nice."

Dean jumped forward, flames licking at Ruby's face. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you to Hell right now."

"Because," she smiled coyly, "I can do something your floating fairy friends can't. I can save Sam."

"He…he doesn't need to be saved…"

Ruby shrugged. "Suit yourself, Deanie-boy," she stepped backwards out of reach. "I'll be around when you change your mind." She slipped back into the shadows, and Dean's sword flickered, then spluttered out, leaving him in the dark.

_Dean…is Dad gonna shoot me?_

He laughed, but it was a humorless laugh, one born of frustration and desperation and that threatened to turn into tears. _Dad's not gonna shoot you, Sammy._

_DEAN!_

Dean whirled, slamming Bobby into the wall as he pushed past and through the hall, the sword erupting in bright light as he rounded the corner.

John Winchester stood over his youngest son, gun directed uncomfortably close to Sam's head. "DAD!"

Black eyes turned, and an awkward grin split the hunter's features. "Well, since you wouldn't let me talk to Sam…"

"You know, this really ain't winnin' me over, bitch."

"Now, you have to listen, cowboy. Or I'm gonna shoot your brother. I won't kill him…but maim him…I don't need him physically whole."

_Dean?_

_Just stay down, Sam._

He could feel the heat radiating from the sword, fueled by his own anger, and the flames lept up and curled around his wrist. Wings tore from his back, but he didn't flinch, eyes burning the with the same reflective gold as his sword.

John grinned. "So it is true…you're bastard children. And that's why we need you." He cocked his head at Sam, who glanced at Dean, eyebrows raising as the flames continued to move higher around Dean's arm, wrapping him in a fiery cloak.

"What the Hell do you want?"

"Redemption," John whispered, and his head tipped back, mouth open wide as black smoke swirled out and around, making a beeline for the cracked window. Dean followed it, slamming the window shut, and turned to find that Sam had managed to catch their father and lever him onto the couch.

"Dean?" Sam asked softly as Bobby peered through the open doorway, rubbing at the goose egg on his head.

Dean glanced down at his arm, watching as the flames receded and died. Moving towards the wall, he found his sheath and put the sword away, still not acknowledging Sam's question.

"Dean?"

John groaned and sat up, rubbing at his head. "I thought you'd fortified this place, old man," he muttered.

"Who you callin' old?" Bobby snapped.

"You."

Dean folded his wings in, pushing past Sam and Bobby. He was heading for the kitchen--more specifically, the fridge. Leaning into the cooler, he pushed around leftovers, looking for the cold beer he'd seen Bobby stash there earlier. A hand on his elbow caused him to jump, and he smacked his head off the top of the refrigerator. "Shit!"

A hand beat his to the back of his head, and a cooling rush dulled and then erased the throbbing pain. "Sorry."

"What did I tell you about heal…What?"

"Your eyes are still gold."

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing away the last remnants of that warm power. "Better?" he asked, peering up at Sam.

"I didn't say it was bad…but yeah, they're normal again."

"Good," he muttered, reaching in and pulling out two of the beers. "You healed Bobby's head too, didn't you?" He turned, passing one bottle to his brother and collapsing at the worn table.

Sam shook his head. "I didn't think it was a good idea…not with Dad there."

Dean snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Dude, I just turned into a glowing freak."

"Yeah…but he was possessed. He probably won't even remember it…" Sam cleared his throat, taking his own rickety chair. "So…uh…why's there some demon flirting with you?"

Beer came out his nose and mouth as the chair slammed to the floor. Sam jumped up, thumping him hard between his wings as he choked and spluttered. "She was not," he squeaked between coughs.

Sam grinned.

"You bitch," Dean groaned, realizing that his brother had just gotten him back for the dress.

"Jerk," Sam chirped.

Dean moaned, head thumping hard against the table as he hid it under his arms.

"Dean's got a girlfriend, Dean's got a girlfriend," Sam balanced his chair on two legs as he sing-songed.

Dean's foot jerked out, catching the chair leg, and Sam tumbled to the ground. "Oww…" he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the tile.

"What are you two idjits doin'?"

"Nothing," they chorused, peering up at the older hunters.

"You break my table and you'll be buildin' me a new one."

"Yes, sir."

Sam groaned, straightening and snatching up the chair.

"So," John cleared his throat, sitting between the boys. "Uh…I'm sorry, for uh, pointing that gun at you…"

"It wasn't you, Dad," Sam said softly.

"Sam…" John reached out a trembling hand, and froze. "Sammy," he whispered, fingers brushing back a stray curl. His hand closed around Sam's head and he pulled Sam towards him, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry, baby."

Dean stood, chair scraping quietly as he followed Bobby out.

One hand stroked frantically through Sam's hair, the other tight around Sam's back. "I just love you so much, and I was so scared that when you went away I was gonna lose you…"

"Dad," Sam's broken voice interrupted. "I love you, too." His arms reached up and snagged in John's jacket, and his head fell automatically to his father's shoulder, as it had many years before.

"I could never hate you, Sammy," he whispered. "Never."

*~~*

"What's going on with my boys, Bobby?"

John peered into the darkened room one last time, just to make sure they were both still sleeping soundly. He'd sent Sam to take another shower, knowing that it would help calm the kid down, and went to check on Dean, only to find his oldest sobbing into Bobby's shoulder. He was sent to take a shower as soon as Sam was done and they were both sent to bed, John worried that they were too exhausted to think straight let alone figure out what this whole demon thing was.

Bobby nodded his head toward the kitchen and John followed, picking up Sam's unfinished beer and taking a long draw. "Well?"

"They've been in a bad way since you left them, John." Bobby sighed, mopping up the beer that Dean had spewed with a wet rag. "Wandered around rather aimlessly. Sam was trying to heal everything in sight I guess, wearing himself down and pissing Dean off, but they weren't hunting. Still aren't, I guess. Minus the gnome."

"The what?"

"Hmm…oh, the garden gnome," Bobby mumbled from inside the fridge, pulling out two fresh beers. "Sucker bit Dean and stabbed Sam pretty good--that's why his arm is in the sling, though he appears to be healing a little faster than normal. Haven't told Dean that, it'll just freak him out even more. Anyway, that didn't happen until after the angels contacted them."

"Those bastards didn't hurt my boys, did they?"

"No," Bobby shook his head. "Just asked a favor of Sam. If he figured out where any of the others like him were, they asked that he let them know."

"So they can kill them?"

Bobby shrugged. "In the case of the girl you were after…I'd guess yes. But Dean made them promise that he and Sam wouldn't have to kill anyone." He was scrounging through a drawer, looking for his bottle opener.

"Just use the counter," John muttered. "It isn't like Dean hasn't dented it anyway."

Bobby turned and glared before conceding. "Anyway, at this point the boys had a flat tire, a rat infested motel room, and had been accused of being gay multiple times. Oh, and Dean had impersonated an angel."

"He what?!"

"Uh-huh. Apparently Michael didn't care too much. So, they hit the road, nearly hit some girl, saved her and her mother from some killer garden gnome, and headed here for Christmas." His chair protested as he settled in it, and Bobby wondered if this was the time the thing was going to break.

"Sam had a vision about you, and some girl and that house. You died. He called you, you were yourself, so he summoned one of those angels, and here you are."

"And the demon?"

Bobby shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Though, something is bothering Dean, so he probably knows more than he's admitting to."

"Dean usually does," John muttered, recalling a melted Snickers bar that had been stuck on the back of his jeans. Neither Dean nor Sam would fess up to it. Still.

"But whatever Dean knows, Sam doesn't," Bobby added, tracing the wet ring left by his bottle.

"Which means it's probably about Sam," John sighed.

"Would anything else cause Dean to break down like that?" Bobby took another long swallow of his beer. They sat in silence the rest of the night.

*~~*

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" Dean hissed.

"I need to figure out what these demons are doing…I'm closer than I've ever been to getting this yellow-eyed bastard, Dean. And I have a feeling that this demon has to do with whatever you're hiding from Sam."

Dean winced and glanced around to make sure the brother in question wasn't there.

"The angels are divided…he still might…Fall."

"With a capital 'f'?"

Dean nodded.

"Dean…kiddo. Sammy isn't going to fall. Not with a little f, and not with a big f."

"How do you know?" Dean whispered, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Because, Dean. When has Sam ever fallen and you haven't caught him?" John paused, letting his words sink in. "And if he ever does fall…you know we'll all be right there picking up the pieces and putting them back together. You don't have to do this alone, Dean."

"But he's my responsibility," Dean's voice was thick, and a single tear made its own path through a myriad of freckles.

"No, Dean. He's your brother." John grinned. "Always figured you thought he was a puppy. Half expected you to bring home a collar and leash so you could walk him."

A smile pulled at Dean's lips. There had been a time, okay, so he'd been eight, when that exact thought had gone through his head. Sam was his. His to take care of. His responsibility.

"Nah," Dean's eyes were still watery. "Kid never learned to heel properly." He cleared his throat. "You need to tell Sam you're leaving. I can't…I won't do that to him."

As Dean retreated John thought it was strange how his son looked incomplete and somehow vulnerable without those big, black wings wrapped around his back.

*~~*

"What are you doin', Sammy?"

Sam threw more clothes into his duffle, clearly not caring that they were all going to be wrinkled. "Packing, Dean. I'm going with Dad."

"Does Dad know you're going with Dad?"

Sam paused in his hurried stuffing. "No."

"Did you ask Dad?"

Sam looked down and away. "Hesaidno," Sam mumbled.

"Uh-huh." Dean brushed a hand through his hair. "Dad's going after the demon, Sam…"

"And we should be there!" Sam snapped. "That demon killed Mom, killed Jess…freakin' infected me!"

"Sam…"

"No, Dean. I thought about it. How else would a demon know where to find me unless I was like…a freakin' beacon or something?"

"It was a lucky guess…"

"I'm putting you in danger. You'll be safer if I'm with Dad."

"Woah, woah," Dean put his hand up. "You aren't going anywhere without me."

"Dean…Put me down!" Sam was floating a good three feet off the ground, held in the air by his brother.

"Not until you promise me you aren't leaving."

"Put me down you jerk!"

"No way, bitch." Dean lifted him higher and started spinning him in circles. "You. Aren't. Going. Anywhere. Without. Me."

"DAD!!!!"

John thundered down the stairs and into the living room. "Dean."

"Huh?" He spun Sam faster.

"Put your brother down."

"Not until he promises that he isn't going anywhere without me."

"Where was he going?" John asked, glancing up at his youngest, who was steadily turning a strange shade of green. "Uh…Dean…"

"He thought he was going with you and leaving…Ugh! Sammy!"

"Sorry…You know I don't to spinning rides."

Dean floated him over to the couch and pinned him there, shrugging out of his jacket that was now covered in the remains of Sam's breakfast.

"Sam, it's safer for both you and your brother if you don't come with me."

"I've got to do something, Dad." Sam's pleading eyes were already working their magic powers…

John was going to regret this. "Why don't you track down that girl from your vision. You and Dean work on the angel side of things. I'll figure out the demon side."

"You'll be careful?"

Apparently Dean sensed that there was something more behind that loaded question. He released his brother and Sam sunk back into the couch, and Dean was almost instantly next to him. "Sam?" _Vision?_

"No, Dean. I've just got a really bad feeling about this."

"I'll be careful, Sam. Promise."

"Okay."

**A/N: Sorry it sucks. Hope you enjoyed anyway. :) **


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